Confection
by Dotty Pierce
Summary: Draco’s life begins to crumble when he accidentally plunges himself deep into his fathers schemes to over throw Voldemort. Can a new friend found in the most unlikely place save him from his own self-destruction? 6th year at Hogwarts, DH Slash
1. An Encounter of Sorts

Confection

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Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and all characters contained within this story are all property of J.K. Rowling, with the exception of Winter DeForgum, she is owned by me. Bum Bum Bum, and all that other disclaimer stuff.  
**Author**: Abyss

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Email: IndelibleChild@yahoo.com

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Rating: R

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Warnings: Slash, Angst, implied rape, Drug abuse, Self-Mutilation

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Genre: Drama

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Summary: Draco's life begins to crumble when he accidentally plunges himself deep into his fathers schemes to over throw Voldemort. Can a new friend found in the most unlikely place save him from his own self-destruction? Takes place 6th year at Hogwarts, AU. 

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Chapter One: An encounter of sorts.

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Sometimes… just sometimes when I'm alone… it seems that everything fades away into an unspoken nothing… as if I am the only one left in a pathetic existence that is called life. It is in those moments that I am free, where thoughts don't plague my contorted remembrance. In those moments I am pacified, yet it is those moments that I fear. Being content with my own sordidness perplexes me into thinking that I might in fact, always be the thing that I am. This cold creature that I am, this consuming bastard compiled of frazzled ideas and hopeless demise that my own self-loathing will one day consume all that is left of this small tortured body. That in my darkest moment I will not hesitate to use the means within my possession to conclude what little life I have lived. What little life that has been lived far too long.

I sometimes wonder when it all came to this, but as soon as the simple thought enters my head I am overwhelmed with belittling memories that hurt. There are stronger words I suppose I could use to describe the images that rush through my head other than 'hurt' but sometimes... sometimes I think that using such simple words have more meaning and effect than even the most extravagant of words. Father use to tell me that simplicity was often the greatest manipulative tool into success. Although my love and admiration for my father has long since wilted, I cannot deny the fact that his cunning wisdom and his overbearing nature is something I will always acknowledge and pay some small tribute to. I often find myself longing for days that have long since passed in my childhood. The days when seeing my father and being able to spend time with him meant so much to me, I used to love that man. I used to want to become a person much like himself. I used to have an uncontrollable desire to make him proud of me, his only son. 

I used to believe that Lucius Malfoy was the perfect father.

Now I sometimes wonder if I should laugh at my own naivete, or if I should be crying. But alas, a Malfoy does not cry. A Malfoy is not weak; therefore a Malfoy would not have use of such a petty display of emotion.

It makes me wonder if I am worthy of that title... or if that title is not worthy of me.

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Draco set down his quill and stretched his arms back over his head. Hearing a satisfying crack in either of his shoulders Draco sighed and closed his journal. He once feared that someone would find it and read his musings, read the things that a Malfoy should not be thinking about, but with the amount of charms put on his book, most would not even bother taking the time to remove all of them. Even if they did they would not be met with much more than blank pages. Aside from simple charms, blood magic also deeply protected Draco's musings, only when his own blood, given freely, touched the cream coloured parchment would his words appear. Even though the blonde Slytherin hated his father, he will always remain grateful for all his training in the dark arts. Blood and occult magic are things he never would have learned at Hogwarts. 

Hogwarts...

Only a few weeks until he returned for his sixth year there. Three to be exact. This summer has been horrible to Draco. Well... at least his father has. He never quite knew which was worse, the hateful punishments and cutting words from his father, or his mother's cold indifference to Draco's wellbeing. You could always tell when a person's mind started to slip when they craved the physical contact Draco received from his father's habitual beatings. Of course after all was said and done his father would hastily pick Draco up from the floor, lay him in Draco's room and heal all the physical damage done to his body. Couldn't scar that perfect body of his. No, that wouldn't be smart. Draco sometimes wished that his father left him in pain, at least then he would have some evidence to confirm that he isn't just imagining the things his father did to him. 

Very few people ever saw the rage that resided within Lucius Malfoy. Most only witnessed the cool, collected, poised man that was a Malfoy, no the unruly demons within were saved for Draco, and Draco alone. The young Slytherin promised himself to never do anything for his father ever again. This included how he acted around others, he would do as he wanted, he would be himself; he would be Draco, not a Malfoy.

The only problem now was... Who was Draco?

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It was almost amusing to see, Draco mused, the confused looks upon his peers' faces. He smiled smugly knowing that the source of their befuddlement came from none other than Draco himself. He had never kept it much of a secret that he had held himself at a higher level than the rest of Hogwarts, that he himself thought very little of the other students (and even some of the teachers) that attended the school. Of course there were always exceptions to his disregard for the vast population at such an establishment, but those select few could be though about later.

Actually, now that it has been mentioned, Draco reflected; the wizarding world's own boy wonder Harry Potter has seemed to pick up quite a few nasty little habits, apparently unbeknownst to everyone else. Draco chuckled to himself, amused. Irony at its best, so ironic in the fact that Harry Potter's pseudo-evil foe would notice the boys own dark shadows before everyone else. 

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Oh my. Draco thought cynically, _The Harry Potter fan club must be faltering!_

Draco smiled, slightly amused, but then frowned slightly when he realized he had gone off topic. But then again... Do thoughts really have main points? Topics and sequences to follow? Are they not merely reflections? Biased ideas based upon the events of ones day/ life? Sighing Draco shook his head. All he really wanted to get across in his mind's own musings is that his house sorely missed their ringleader. 

Hmm... Draco liked that analogy. The implication that this was just one big circus, a pseudo existence, a mere act of ridiculous characters with a poorly written script. Well Draco wouldn't be their pawn anymore. Parading around, directing a bunch of mindless fools was not the young blonde's idea of a good time. No, Draco thought, his pensive mind could be used for much better purposes. What those purposes were, he was not quite sure, but when he figures that out, at least he will know that he had picked his own future. 

Everyone assumed Draco would run off with a little trophy wife and devote his life to a meaningless cause run by a man who couldn't even do off with a stupid little defenseless baby. Draco almost snorted at that ludicrous thought. Why would he ever degrade himself so much? Openly enslaving himself to a man who couldn't even stay alive. Further more, why would he mare his flawless skin with an overtly disgusting and crude looking burn? Draco was a slave to no one; not even Voldemort could get Draco to bow down. His father taught him self-pride well... Perhaps a little too well.

Draco had always favoured the idea of becoming a Potions Master. He had the brains for it, that was a given, but one of the more surprising traits Draco possessed was patients... and lots of it. The solitude that came with such a profession had never been much of an issue. Most Potion Masters enjoyed the detachment from society. Many had thoughts much like Draco about the majority of the population anyway, mindless sheep following along a pre-determined path. It was interesting to observe sometimes, but most of the time it was an intellectual hindrance. 

With taking all that in, Draco wasn't too surprised when he found out over the summer that his animagus form was that of a cat. Pure white fur with startlingly black eyes. He'd always liked cats. Whether it was for their grace and beauty, or whether it was their intelligent, aristocratic and sly mannerisms that drew him to the relatively small animal, but whatever it was, it just made the discovery all the more appropriate for him. 

Rolling over in his bed once again, Draco sighed and flung his legs off the bed and forced himself into a sitting position. The moonlight that filtered into the small dorm room reflected off his skin, which would have given him an ethereal disposition to anyone who could have witnessed the moment. 

Draco hated restless nights. 

Standing from his bed Draco ran his left hand through his loose locks of hair. He had always hated wearing it gelled back, it made him feel unclean with the amount of hair product that was slopped onto the top of his head. And secretly he thought that it made his forehead look unnaturally large, but that would be a thought he would keep to himself. His father had been furious when Draco had come back from London with a new haircut, his light hair falling freely in slight layers around his face, he had told Draco he looked like "Filthy muggle trash". Eventually his father had told Draco it made him look more like a man. Draco knew his father too well though, he just wanted to tell Draco that he approved of the rebellious (at least for the son of a Malfoy it was) action to help uphold his air of control over the household and all those that reside within it.

Slipping on some comfortable robes Draco stealthily made his way into the corridors or Hogwarts. Despite the fact that Draco had undying distaste for those that inhabited Hogwarts, the castle and surrounding lands were quite magnificent really. Draco could easily say that at least half of the large castle hadn't been used in years, and all the dusty mysteries held within its cool-to-the-touch stone corridors were left waiting for their greatness to be discovered once more. The dungeons were more like a hideous maze than anything else, for years Draco wouldn't travel very deep into the dank depths of the school for fear that he would get lost and wouldn't be able to find his way back to his common room. Draco almost smiled as he walked down corridor after corridor, twisting in obscure ways, deftly walking through the maze-like halls. He knew more about these dungeons than he did his own home. 

The deeper Draco ventured, the more prominent the smell of decay came. It was when he turned down a certain hallway that the grotesque sent was replaced with something else. A sweet smell, almost like burning incense.... But more potent, and definitely not as perfume-like. Slowing his pace, Draco strained to hear anything. Just when he thought he was alone, he heard a small muffled cough. Confusion hit Draco for a few seconds because he knew that someone was down in the dungeons with him, someone who obviously knew his way around the school, and someone who was obviously trying not to get caught in the midst of doing something. And if Draco had identified the smell properly... he knew exactly who was down there.

As Draco entered a large open room (which was presumably used for storage room, or as a gathering room at one point or another) his assumptions were proved to be correct. There, in all his glory, was Potter... a very messed up Potter. For a few moments Draco pondered the idea of just leaving him alone, but the temptation of a worthy conversation (if Potter wasn't too far-gone) drew him closer to the boy. "My, Potter, awfully late to be out and about don't you think?" Draco drawled absently while moving into view of the small lighting charm Harry had cast. Had circumstances been different, Draco definitely would have found some way or another to get Potter caught and although he would no longer do such a thing, he found much amusement in the completely horrified shock that was so excessively prominent on the dark haired boy's face. 

Long seconds passed before Draco said anything else; he was too busy enjoying Potter's paranoia. "Oh come down now, I'm not about to run off and get you into trouble." He moved in closer to the still overtly frightened Gryffindor, turned over an old wooden chair, and sat down in it. Harry looked up at the boy, still scared, but also confused and curious as well. Draco smiled at Potter's lack of speech, then wondered exactly how high the other boy really was. Draco snatched a small bag that sat next to Potter and looked inside. Yup, Draco was right. "Who'd you buy from? This stuff seems like it would cost you quite a bit." The blonde Slytherin idly took a small bud out of the bag, and lightly smelled it. Strong sent, admirable colour, excellent condition. 

"What are you doing here?" Harry finally managed. 

"Oh you can speak! I was worried for a moment that you had gone mute." His pale hands closed up Harry's small bag and passed it back to him. "What brings you down here Potter? Well, obviously smoking a few bowls... Or quite a bit more from the looks of it. But the dungeons? The mighty Gryffindor stalking around in the dank corridors, in Slytherin territory no less."

"Why are you here?" Harry spoke again, either ignoring, or failing to acknowledge the other boy's question.

"Hmm..." Draco paused for a moment. "Why, it looks like I am talking to you, unless of course I am mistaken."

"But _why_." He persisted.

"Why not? Despite the fact that you are hopelessly stoned, I figured you'd be worthy of a decent conversation, which, regretfully is something I haven't had in quite a long time. There really is a lack of intelligence in this school." 

Harry just stared at Draco.

Laughing Draco shook his head. "You really are hopeless I guess. I suppose I should just leave." Standing up Draco felt a warm hand wrap around the base of his ankle.

"Wait." Harry looked up. Standing above him made Draco realize how small the boy looked. He looked very much like a child. His messy black hair skewed in all directions; large blood shot green eyes, which made him look more like he was crying, than sitting in the dungeons of an old castle getting high. A slight pout to his lips made him appear as if he wanted to say something, but held it back.

"Oh you want me to stay?" Draco analyzed the wizard's reaction.

"Well... I..." Harry looked down and bit his lip. "I mean... would you... you know?" Harry nodded his head towards a rather impressive (yet still small) pipe, a lighter and the bag Draco had looked through earlier. 

"Is this an free invitation, Potter?" 

Harry merely nodded.

Almost laughing at the thought, Draco smiled and sat down next to the already stoned boy. 

"Alright then. There is one condition though." Harry looked over to Draco. "I get first hit." Smiling, Harry packed the bowl, then passed it over to Draco lighter in hand. 

Taking the two Draco looked at them, then cocked an eyebrow at Harry. "What?" he asked.

"A dragon pipe, and a serpent lighter? Why someone might mistake you for a Slytherin." Draco laughed, shook his head and took his hit. Draco noticed that Harry was staring at him intently. Choosing to ignore the almost uncomfortable gaze, Draco passed the pipe over to Harry, and closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of the thick smoke that invaded his lungs. Slowly exhaling after a few seconds Draco looked over at Harry who was still staring at him.

"I never thought that you'd ever do this sort of thing." Harry thought aloud. "You seem to like being in control to much."

Draco smirked. "And who would have thought the great Harry Potter would secretly be a pot head?" Draco starred, intrigued as Harry laughed a little, before raising the elegantly glass-blown dragon to his mouth. He had to admit that it felt strange being here. Sitting on the cold dirty floor getting high with Harry Potter. Who would have guessed? Certainly not Draco.

"You know," Harry began, a small amount of smoke coming out of his mouth as he spoke. "I was almost sorted into Slytherin."

Draco was glad that he didn't have the pipe in his hand... he would have dropped it. Quickly regaining his composure, Draco took the offered pipe and lighter and laughed a little. "That would have been quite a shock. Harry Potter, boy wonder sorted into the horrible Slytherin house." 

After a few more rounds of the pipe in companionable silence, Harry began talking again. "I sometimes wish I had been put in Slytherin..." It was quite, almost like he didn't really want Draco to hear it, but had needed to say it anyway.

"Why?"

"Because..." Harry trailed off, absently fiddling with the lighter in his hands. "I don't really feel like I belong in Gryffindor, I never really have. I'm surrounded by people who know me only as 'The-Boy-Who-Lived, not just Harry. It's not easy being surrounded by all those people, who seem to adore you but aren't really your friend. No, they're too frightened to get to know you, just in case. Just in case of what... Sometimes I wonder." He paused for a minute and looked up a Draco who was seemed oddly interested in what Harry was saying, so he continued. "In Slytherin... I think I don't think I would have been looked at like that, I'd have to prove I was worthy of someone's friendship, prove I was a worthy peer."

"Is that why you no longer talk to Weasley and Granger? Or at least, avoid them as much as you can."

"You noticed?" Harry seemed surprised.

"I notice a lot of things, more than you'd realize. I'm more observant than I appear."

"Oh?" Harry said, not exactly knowing what else to say.

"For example. I noticed that you got your tongue pierced over the summer. I congratulate you on hiding it so well, for this long."

Harry did nothing but stare, looking for an explanation. 

"When school first started, you drank a lot, you didn't eat as much, and when you did it was rather awkward. I also noticed that you never put your fork all the way in your mouth anymore. You used to lick your lips as a nervous habit; you stopped doing that as well. You also speak much more carefully than you used to; your mouth doesn't open as much. You also play with the barbell during class lessons, which, by the way, makes you look rather foolish, so I suggest you refrain from doing so."

"And you came to that conclusion because of a few mouth movements?"

"That's an affirmative." Draco stretched his neck to the side, hearing a small, satisfactory 'pop'. "Then again, you really aren't the hardest person to read, you really are far too open for your own good."

"Should I be impressed, or should I be paranoid that you're stalking me?" Harry half-joked.

Draco shrugged and took his last hit. "Do whatever, just stop going to Snape's class high, he's starting to suspect something."

"You knew?" Harry was surprised.

"Like I told you... I'm very observant."

Harry half-heartedly shrugged. It was silent between the two of them for a long few minutes. Both teenagers just sitting and enjoying the high, and while neither would admit it, enjoying the company of each other as well. 

"Why aren't we fighting?" Harry suddenly asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... why aren't we fighting? I don't think I've ever spent this much time with you, alone none the less, and to add to that, I don't think either of us have been together an not been at each others throats... I just think it's kind of odd."

"I suppose so, but I also think that we've both grown out of that silly animosity. You were a worthy rival Potter, more so than I think I realize." Draco idly looked down at his watch 3:47.

Silence.

"Think we ever could have been friends?" Harry finally asked.

"Perhaps." Draco mused. "But what says that we can't be now?"

That openly spoken truce, that offer of friendship startled Harry. He hesitated before answering. "I... I don't know. Nothing I guess..."

"Well?" Draco asked for an answer to the implied question.

"Well what?"

Not as observant as Draco had originally thought. The blonde rolled his eyes. "I am asking for your friendship Potter, I am also asking not to be turned down... again. I'm not quite sure why I am about to tell you this, and I rather wish I would stop myself, but oh well. You hurt me last time, when you dropped me for someone else, you hurt me a lot."

"I did?" Harry sat up (he was laying down? Draco didn't notice... well there goes their previous conversation). 

Draco nodded, silently asking not to have to further explain.

"Well..." Harry looked away from Draco. "Let's just hope I don't do it again then." After a few seconds Harry looked back over at Draco. The two just stared at each other, neither quite believing what had just transpired. 

"Now what?" Draco almost whispered.

"I don't really know."

They both smiled.

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End: Chapter One

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Author's Notes: Please review, no flames, but constructive criticism is always very much appreciated. This is my first HP fic I've ever written so... *waves to everyone* HELLO! Chapter two should be out relatively soon. 


	2. Indelible Malfoy

Confection

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Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and all characters contained within this story are all property of J.K. Rowling, with the exception of Chester Devroy, he's owned by me. Bum Bum Bum, and all that other disclaimer stuff.  
**Author**: Abyss

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Email: IndelibleChild@yahoo.com

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Rating: R

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Warnings: Slash, Angst, implied rape, Drug abuse, Self-Mutilation

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Genre: Drama

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Summary: Draco's life begins to crumble when he accidentally plunges himself deep into his fathers schemes to over throw Voldemort. Can a new friend found in the most unlikely place save him from his own self-destruction? Takes place 6th year at Hogwarts, AU. 

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Author's notes: The plot demons came by the other day and savagely ripped apart my plot, so Winter DeForgum (A character you haven't met) will not be appearing, as she's been replaced by the loveable Chester Devroy (Oh my). Lucky for you my story line has been cut in half though.

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Chapter Two: Indelible Malfoy

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I wonder where all this anger came from. Surely not every negative feeling I have would spawn from my father, my upbringing. I do not wish to lie to myself. Am I the thing that causes all this animosity? All these perturbed thoughts? I dream of the death of those around me, and find out that it was with my own hands that they suffered... But... These dreams do not trouble me as I feel they should, I do not wake up scared, terrified of the things I see myself do, just a subtle indifference. 

It all makes me question things I have been so sure of in the past. I feel superior to these insignificant being, these people that drain my thoughts; they drain my body and make me ache for release. 

The main antagonist on my list would be that of a one Ms. Pansy Parkinson, after expressing her "concern" for me at lunch and received perhaps a few too many not-too-polite remarks (In public? Oh my, how un-Malfoy of me) towards the offending hole in her head from none other than yours truly. Of course after that eye-catching display of oh-so-pleasant emotion, Parkinson storms out of the great hall. And if I know her behaviour well enough (and I do) she ran off to owl my father about my "troubling behaviour". Twenty galleons says she uses those exact words as well.

She is going to sorely regret that if she messes up my plans.

Class for Glamour Magic finally starts tomorrow. I still don't understand why we had to wait a month into the school year before the class could start. Probably because our teacher is going to be hopelessly incompetent, the thought alone almost makes me not want to take the course. I haven't seen the new teacher around at all. It makes me rather curious, in a cynical sort of way. 

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Dinner has always been an insufferable time. People, hundreds of ignorant people crudely shoving their obtuse mouths with copious amounts of food. It was a rather sickening site to see and it never failed to halt what little appetite Draco had. Eating had been, for as long as the young Slytherin could remember, a rather disgusting and intemperate act. The thought of food almost made him physically sick. 

Sitting across from Pansy didn't help much either. 

How much '_Oh Draco! I'm so sorry! Please don't be angry with me!'_ Could one person take anyway?

Of course this also meant that Pansy had done something that she now regrets... _Like owling my father..._ Draco thought bitterly as a large brown owl dropped a letter in front of him. Draco looked up at Pansy and cocked an eyebrow then turned his attention back to the letter once Pansy bit her lip and looked away.

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Draco,

I've heard some troubling news about your recent behaviour at school; as such I am afraid that I cannot allow you to stay at school during holiday break. We need to discuss what has been bothering you in person.

L.Malfoy

How fatherly, Draco thought sardonically. 

"Parkinson." Draco said while folding up his letter and neatly placing it in his robes. "We're.... Going to have a little talk tonight, after dinner." He looked up at her.

Pansy just nodded. 

She should know better, Draco mused. Calmly removing himself from the table, Draco stalked out of the room, his robes billowing dramatically behind him.

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Pansy stood in front of Draco, most would see her stance as trying to challenge Draco... But the young blonde knew better. Pansy Parkinson was terrified of him. 

"I have better things to be doing tonight, so this is going to be quick." Draco started, pacing slowly around the almost empty common room. "I'm going to lay down a few rules and you will follow them. Understand?"

"Draco, I don't really think that-"

"Don't!" Draco interrupted and sharply turned towards Pansy. "Don't address me so informally, unlike my father, Parkinson," Draco spat harshly, uncomfortably invading the other Slytherin's space "I do not have a problem hitting a girl." His eyes darkened considerable before he turned away from her and began pacing again.

"As I was about to say." He continued. "You will not, under any circumstances, have any contact with my father about me. You will not address your concern for my recent interest in Potter in front of others. I have my reasons and be assured that if you fuck my plans up even the slightest bit more." Draco stopped and looked at Pansy once more. "I will personally see to it that you regret that very moment for the rest of your life." They both knew that wasn't an empty threat. "Are we understood?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now stay out of my site, I'm sick of having to look at you." Draco turned and stalked to his room, he had planning to do.

"I can't believe her." Draco shook his head as he leaned up against the door of his room. The blonde Slytherin had many things planned for the time off from school that involved Harry, he now had to re-think everything with the unappreciated rift in his schedule.

Firstly he had to get his twenty galleons back from Potter; Draco had no intention of letting Harry use all that money to go get himself high. Knowing Potter, he'd do something like. Draco walked over to his desk and sat down, thinking about the dark haired Gryffindor. That clueless boy was more than an extreme drug addict, Draco mused silently. He would never admit it to himself that it actually hurt him to see the young wizard struggling with himself. 

It was just part of the plan, he reminded himself as he took out his half-finished potions essay. Just part of the plan....

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"Damn Gryffindors." Draco muttered under his breath as he took a seat in his new class. Draco wasn't sure if he should be looking forward to the class or not. Of course the idea of Glamour Magic was quite intriguing, and should be something quite enjoyable to do. Yet, the prospect of working with the Gryffindors put him off, and he had a strong feeling the teacher would be nothing short of hopeless. 

"Class." Spoke a tall bony man with short, curly black hair. The new professor walked in from the door, his black robes billowing behind him as he quickly walked to the head of the room, reminding Draco slightly of Snape. 

He seemed rather young to be a professor, but his black eyes that were framed by his dark rectangular glasses seemed to age his childlike face by many years. "I notice that we are missing two students, but I will continue anyway." He spoke as he looked around the room. "I am Professor Devroy, and as you all _should_ know by now, this is Glamour Magic. I understand that many of your were frustrated when finding out you had to wait before you could take this class but, get over it, you're here now." Draco smiled.

"This is an advanced class, so attendance _is_ a requirement, I expect you to be here everyday, and I expect you to be on time. There is rarely any good excuse for tardiness. Before we-" Professor Devroy stopped talking as the door flung open, and two students ran in, both very out of breath.

Ron Weasley and Harry Potter. Draco briefly studied the dark haired Gryffindor, idly wondering exactly what drug was saturated in his blood. GHB seemed to be a favourite.

"S...sorry Professor." Draco watched Ron gasp for breath as he tried to speak. 

Devroy raised an eyebrow for a thoughtful moment, an act that reminded Draco of Snape again. 

"Take a seat, ten points for tardiness, do not let this happen again." He spoke, almost bitterly; being late was obviously something he took personally. Draco watched Harry and Ron separate, Harry taking a seat next to Neville Longbottom, and Ron somewhere in the back, near some other Gryffindor.

"As I was discussing before I was interrupted." Began the Professor. "I expect all of you to be here everyday, _on time_." He glanced at Ron and Harry, still irritated. "In the first few weeks of this course you all will be studying the introduction to Glamour Magic, also called Illusion Magic. Those of you that picked this course for vanity reasons will soon find out this course will be more than you bargained for." Another glance was taken at Pansy, who looked rather upset; Draco smiled to himself. 

"Now." Professor Devroy turned around walked behind his desk. "Everyone take out your wands." Draco stared at the professor for a moment, confused, then did as he was told. Devroy turned around and looked at the students; most seemed excited at the thought of practical work already. "Now put them away." Devroy smiled at the disappointed faces. _Idiots_, Draco thought to himself. 

"You will have no use for wands with Glamour Magic. This is mind magic, creating illusions for an indefinite period of time. Not once will you use your wands in class, so I don't expect to see them... at all."

Draco watched a Gryffindor raise their hand.

"Professor?" they called. 

"Yes?"

"How will we be doing magic then?"

Devroy smiled, expecting the question. "I find it hard to believe that you are all sixth year students, and still do not know about wandless magic. Come up here." Everyone watched the Gryffindor slowly walk to the front of the class. "Wandless magic can be done in many ways, and is often looked down upon because many fear that it gives too much power to those who understand it." The professor walked over towards where the student was standing, and touched his shoulder. Most of the class gasped as they saw the typical school robes quickly transform into Quidditch robes. "That, is an example of wandless magic." Continued the teacher. "You may sit down now." With a snap of his fingers, the robes quickly changed back to their original form.

"Anyone know the different kinds of wandless magic?" 

Draco raised his hand.

"Ah, yes Mister Malfoy." 

"There are five different forms of Wandless Magic." Draco began. "There is Touch Change, Word Change, Dream Change, Glance Change, and then Thought Change."

"Excellent!" Devroy seemed pleased. "Five points to Slytherin." Devroy waved his right hand at the blackboard behind him and instantly bold, white words appeared upon the dark surface. "Mister Malfoy is quite right." He began. "The five methods of Wandless Magic are quite obvious as to how to go about performing the desired task from their names. Touch Magic, the most common and easiest to learn, is acquired by simply touching what you wish to change. The next change is Word Change, in here you will learn many simple and complex incantations. Followed by Word Change is Glance Change, the illusion is created by concentrating on what you wish to change into the desired object. The two most complicated methods are Thought Change, and Dream Change. Thought Change is achieved through your mind, it is wishing for an object, or desired change and then making it happen. It is quite difficult, and many of you will have an extremely laborious time being able to do this. Dream Change can be quite dangerous, because of this we will be doing this at the very end of the year. When we start working with Dream Changes you all will be given a collective sphere. Dream Change can and will manifest some of your most wonderful desires, and some of your worst fears. As such, none of you will actually bring for your Dream Changes into our reality; they will be stored in your collective sphere. 

I expect everyone to know each form, and how it's done. By the end of the year you all will be able to understand and work with each type of change, and will be creating a portfolio of sorts that explain and give example to each change. As the requirements are quite difficult and time consuming you will be working with a partner. No, you may not choose whom you work with, and yes, you will both be doing the same amount of work. I have already paired you off, if you do not get along or know whom you are working with... I honestly do not care you will all survive. This is where I become everyone's least favourite teacher, you have a seating arrangement, and it is mandatory that you get along with your partner inside this classroom. **MANDATORY**. I will not let you all behave like little children, you're almost fully grown adult wizards, as such you will act like one in here, or you will not be taking this class any more." Devroy snapped his fingers and in front of every student was a nametag on the desk. "If you are not sitting in front of your name, get up and move. Where you find your name is where you will be sitting for the rest of the year."

Draco looked down, and saw happily that he didn't have to move. Draco curiously looked over at the desk next to him when Blaise got up and moved. 

__

Harry Potter was printed in large neat script. 

Draco smiled. 

"Potter." Draco nodded as Harry sat down. Most of the class watched the exchange between the two nervously. No one really knew about their recent friendship. 

"Now that you are all situated," Devroy began. "You all will be receiving a workbook. Inside it will contain information for your portfolio, what is expected of your and your partner, requirements, some basic guidelines and some helpful ideas. It took me quite a while to get these together, so I will not tolerate seeing any of these being left behind, or forgotten about. I also expect you to look though and have an idea of all the material that is in there, Many of the questions you have regarding the portfolio you will find contained within your workbooks. I have no desire to repeat any information verbally to you that is in there, as it is a waste of my time, and your time. For the rest of class I want you to become more familiar with your partner, and have both of you look of the material in the packet. Get along, you are stuck with your partner for the rest of the year." Devroy passed out thick packets to each student. "Get to work." He spoke, then turned around and sat down at his desk, idly starting to read though the papers on his desk. 

"I have a feeling I am going to hate this class." Harry muttered lowly. Draco laughed.

"Honestly, Potter. Every time the school gets a competent professor, you hate them."

"Competent? That man has a stick up his ass." Harry exclaimed. "Look at this packet. It's huge!" 

"Perhaps if you understood what it was for you would stop that incessant whining. You really aren't the brightest of the bunch. Then again, you are in Gryffindor, that does explain quite a lot right there." Draco said absently mindedly while flipping through the pages in the packet. 

"As opposed to being a grungy Slytherin, hiding in the depths of the dungeon waiting for innocent victims to attack?"

"If I can recall correctly, you were already sitting in the dark shadows of the dungeon, waiting to corrupt innocent people with your drug induced ways. You sneaky bastard." 

"Ah look at this!" Draco said excitedly, cutting Harry off from what he was about to say. "It says here that _'every student will have to perform each change, then document the results, like a journal. Afterwards each student will switch his or her results with their partner. A reflection essay will be written with constructive criticism and will be added to the their portfolio. Students will write seven reflection essays. Five will describe each change, and two personal essays. Get to know your partner on a personal level, this will help enhance your Glamour Magic abilities.'_ Look Potter, I get to write a biography on you! Oh the glorious excitement, I can't wait to get started." Draco faked enthusiasm. 

"Actually, that seems like it would be rather interesting." Harry said thoughtfully.

"Well of course it does, you're going to be writing about me. I better not see any sexual comments made about my overwhelming good looks, it would spoil our friendship." 

Harry just shook his head. "The indelible Malfoy."

"Indelible? I'm quite impressed, you're vocabulary has improved. Obviously I am a good influence on you."

"Good influence? I think it's the other way around."

"Who is the druggie of this relationship here, hu? That would be you, you silly little Gryffindor. Now when are we going to start putting together the rough draft for the portfolio, I think we could start making a tentative outline today, since most of the information we need is already in here." Draco nodded at the packet. "Let's meet at the library at 10:15 tonight to start going over some ideas, I've already got quite a few."

"10:15? That's a rather random time."

"I'm busy until 10:00, unlike you, some of us have social lives. 10:15, library. Don't be late, I will not wait around for you."

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End: Chapter Two

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Author's Notes: I realized today as I finished up this chapter that this story is going to be _much_ longer than I had originally planned. It is also going a little slower than I had wanted, so I apologize to all that are actually reading this story. No, I don't have my tongue pierced... thought about it for a while though. Also, this chapter _might_ have seemed a little pointless but it wasn't, honest.... Honest!

Thanks to all those loveable people that reviewed, you're awesome. 

Also... At this point in time, Draco has no feelings for Harry... He doesn't even like him too much; it's just more of hesitant friendship. You won't find out about the true nature of the relationship between Draco and Lucius until later in the story. It's not my first fanfic, but it is my first HP one. I used to write in the KoRn section a long time ago... *remembers the days* Oh my.

People who review... are my favourite kind peoples. 


	3. Broken Boundaries

Confection

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Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and all characters contained within this story are all property of J.K. Rowling, with the exception of Chester Devroy, he's owned by me. Bum Bum Bum, and all that other disclaimer stuff.  
**Author**: Abyss

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Email: IndelibleChild@yahoo.com

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Rating: R

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Warnings: Slash, Angst, implied rape, Drug abuse, Self-Mutilation

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Genre: Drama

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Summary: Draco's life begins to crumble when he accidentally plunges himself deep into his fathers schemes to over throw Voldemort. Can a new friend found in the most unlikely place save him from his own self-destruction? Takes place 6th year at Hogwarts, AU. 

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Chapter Three: Broken Boundaries

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"Your excruciatingly irritable ability to be 15 minutes late for everything never ceases to astound me, Potter." Draco drawled from his table at the library.

"What happened to _'I won't wait for you'_?" Harry walked across the library and sat down across from Draco.

"I didn't." The blonde Slytherin produced a small plastic bag from inside his robes and tossed it at Harry. "You're 15 minutes behind me."

Harry took the contents of the bag and spilt it into the palm of his left hand. "What is it?" He inquired.

Draco smirked. "My secret. Try it, you're going to love it, honest."

"An honest Slytherin? Who would of thought." Harry stared lazily at the two small pills before popping them into his mouth, grimacing as he swallowed. "That tasted like shit." He muttered a look of half-disgust still present on his face.

"Personal experience I presume?" Draco teased.

Rolling his eye Harry leaned back into his wooden chair. "Where'd you get them from?"

"You'd be truly amazed at all the wonderful things people just leave laying around... in their trunks."

Harry laughed. "Klepto."

Draco smiled brightly. "I like to think of it as a permanent loan."

"How long are we waiting?"

"Well, I've another 15 minutes to go, you on the other hand, have half an hour, lucky you! Of course in those 30 minutes you," Draco pointed at Harry "will be looking for all the information you can on the mirror of Erised. I am almost positive that the mirror is a form of Glamour Magic, if it is, then we can use that for our Glamour Object." Draco ran his left hand through his hair. "There is one small issue we should discuss."

Harry looked up at Draco.

"Certain... ahh... happenings have been brought to my father's attention... As such, I have been informed that I will be going home for the holiday." Draco internally smiled at Harry's poorly hidden disappointment. "That also means I'll need my twenty galleons back too. I'm not going to be generous and let you smoke yourself up with my money."

Grudgingly Harry agreed. "Yeah whatever, I'll give you back the money tomorrow."

"Alright then. Grab some of these books, and we're off." Draco stood up, grabbed half the pile of book that were neatly stacked on the table, staring at the confused Gryffindor expectantly. Harry grabbed the rest of the books, and followed Draco wordlessly out of the room.

"Hey, wait a minute." Harry protested as they stopped in front of the entrance to the Slytherin common room. "I'm not going in there!"

"Oh get over yourself, it's the only place where we can work comfortably and you'll be pleased to know that I have my own room, so no one is going to bother you." Whispering the password to the portrait Draco led Harry through the Slytherin common room, away from where the dorms lay to a large heavy wooden door. 

"I'm not going to see any contraband laying around your room am I? I have no desired to be scarred from this experience." Harry spoke as Draco opened the door.

"You'll be fine, Potter." Draco muttered as he ushered Harry in, then lightly closed the door behind him, putting a locking spell on it, ignoring the small tingle in his fingertips. Draco smiled, slightly amused at Harry's bewildered expression as he looked around the room. 

"How'd you get this room?"

"Being a Malfoy, can... ahhh... Influence people into making decisions that one wouldn't normally make." Draco explained as he set down his books on a large desk. Trying to ignore the tension that came from Harry after that last sentence. "Oh shit." Draco gabbed the back of the chair that sat in front of the desk for support as he felt an almost uncomfortable warmth flood through him. The slight tingling in his fingers from before grew stronger as it swept over his entire body, making him feel weak. 

"You alright?" Harry asked, Draco noticed the slight concern in his voice, his voice that seemed just a bit too loud.

"I just... need.... To sit down." Draco spoke slowly, feeling all of his muscles clench at the foreign sensations that kept running through him. Draco felt his leg start to shake as he slowly tried to move the chair around.

"You need help?" Harry started to walk towards Draco.

"Uhmm..." Draco gasped as Harry grasped the blonde's right arm, his nerve endings bursting with a euphoric sensation where the Gryffindor's hand just touched. "Don't touch me, Potter." He whispered harshly. Watching Harry back away from him slowly, Draco sat himself down in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees. "Just give me a couple of minutes." Draco spoke after a few tense moments. "I wasn't expecting that to happen right then." 

Draco could feel Harry's eyes on him; it made his skin itch. "Could you stop staring at me? I doubt that I need your undying attention, when I'm just sitting."

"Uhm. Sorry." He heard Harry mutter. The itching feeling dulled down to a slight tingling, which Draco found oddly pleasant. Smiling slightly, he began to laugh, for no apparent reason. The unpleasant shock of the drugs hitting his system wearing off, Draco looked up at Harry, still laughing a little. 

"Could you get me some water to drink?"

"...Sure..."

"The bathroom is through that door over there." Draco pointed to a dark door that was half-open. "There will be a glass in there already." Draco smiled as he watched Harry walk pass the door, still looking confused. Ha, he could be so cute sometimes....

Cute? What the hell? Draco shook his head, trying to shove that thought out of his head. _It's rather hot in here._ Draco thought to himself. Standing up, Draco pulled his robes off and draped them on the back of the chair he was just sitting in. The noticeable distortion in everything Draco's eyes rested on, made him feel slightly drunk, or as if he needed glasses to see properly. Trying to blink away the distorted fuzz, Draco noticed Harry walk back into the room. 

"Thank you." Draco muttered when Harry offered him the glass. His mouth felt sickeningly dry, and the cool liquid did little to help. 

"So, what were those two pills?" Harry asked, looking at Draco questionably. 

"Ah." Draco took another small sip of his water. "You weren't paying attention. You had one and a half pills. DXM and MDMA."

"You gave me ecstasy?!" Harry asked incredulously.

"Oh calm down." Draco waved his hand at him. "It was only half a pill, you've taken it with something else, the DXM tones it down drastically. And," Draco paused "I recall you experimenting with harder drugs, so don't give me shit." Draco smiled as he watched Harry's left hand open and close a few times. "I suggest you go sit down so it won't hit you as hard as it did me." Draco continued to stare at Harry's hand.

__

He's got nice hands. He probably has nice arms too... he should, he's got great shoulders. Oh, I've always liked shoulders..... Draco thought. _Damnit, shut up_. Draco mentally scolded himself. 

"Mmm, you've got a comfy bed..." Harry mumbled into his arm. Wait... Harry was lying on his bed? 

"Potter what are you doing on my bed?"

"I think I'm laying down, silly." Harry giggled into his arm.

Draco smiled, amused. "You prat, get off my bed."

"Why?" Harry moaned childishly and turned away from Draco.

Draco got up and walked the short distance to his bed before flopping down on it. "We should go for a walk." 

"But you just laid down." Harry turned to face Draco. 

Draco inhaled sharply. His eyes were so _green_. Why was he so close to Draco? What happened to his glasses?

"I haven't worn them at all today, I'm surprised you didn't noticed. Pomfry corrected my eyes for me earlier today." Harry stared at Draco questioningly.

__

Oh shit, I actually said that aloud. "Let's go for that walk now, shall we?" Draco hastily got up from the bed and went to the closet. The halls got very cold in Hogwarts at night, he'd need some warm robes. Harry seemed to have followed him. He was close to him. _Very_ close. Draco could actually feel Harry's body heat he was so close. He continued to look at his selection of robes, purposely prolonging the final decision. Only when his mind was not really his own could Draco even begin to admit that he enjoyed feeling Harry so close to him. Forgetting the robes Draco turned around to stare into huge green eyes. He knew Harry was close, but he didn't realize how close.

A few sheets of parchment is all that would fit in between the two young wizards, as green eyes intently stared into silver ones. Draco's breath caught in his throat, as Harry seemed to move closer. 

What was he doing?

Shouldn't Draco be trying to stop him?

Oh, Harry smells good...

He's so close...

Draco's eyes fluttered shut as he felt soft lips brush over his own. Not wanting to loose the inviting touch he pushed forward, capturing the Gryffindor's lips in his own.

It was innocent. Well, as innocent as the situation could get at least. Two pairs of hesitant lips massaged against each other, almost awkwardly, unsure how to act in the foreign situation. Draco's tongue brushed against Harry's bottom lip, silently asking for entrance into his mouth. The Slytherin could have sworn Harry had moaned as Draco slowly explored the other boy's mouth. _The tongue ring was such a good idea...._ Draco thought, almost moaning himself.

Carefully pulling away, Draco looked questioningly at Harry. Confused, and although he would never say it, a little frightened.

"You're so soft..." Harry whispered, almost inaudibly, before he wrapped his arms around the Blonde and rested his head on his shoulder. 

__

You taste like candy. Draco thought, only mildly wondering why the Gryffindor had so adamantly wrapped himself around the slightly smaller frame that was Draco._ This needs to stop._

"Come on Potter." Draco pulled away. "We need to get to work."

"You just ruin everything don't you?" Harry said playfully. Draco smiled, but he was not amused. _This wasn't supposed to happen._ So, Draco figured the best way to resolve the issue, was just to ignore the problem. Yup, if the Slytherin didn't acknowledge that he had just kissed Harry, than he could just pretend that it never happened. 

Harry pulled up a chair and sat next to Draco at the desk and waited to be told what to do.

"Needing to be told what to do already? You're lucky you've been paired with someone who is actually smart." Oh, this is much easier than people say it is.

"You're so cocky..." Harry paused, "and that's just so fucking _hot_." 

__

Shit. Stupid Gryffindor.

Harry smiled, and as far as Draco could tell he tried to look seductive... but he only looked foolish. He 

opened his mouth, but Draco cut him off before he could speak. "Look in that book over there, will you? We need more information on the mirror."

"You know, the mirror is here, I've found it once." 

"I know it's here, I've seen it before as well." Draco replied, unimpressed.

Apparently it was the wrong thing to say though, because interest lit up Harry's eyes. "Really? What did you see in it?"

"I saw nothing." Draco quickly changed the subject. "Now look, I thought it would be best, instead of trying to do every essay together, that we split them up. After we finish the essay, we can have the other revise it." Draco took out a piece of parchment and placed it on the table. "See," Draco said pointing at the list, he went to say more, but Harry spoke up.

"You saw nothing? Do you mean that you saw yourself?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "We don't need to have this discussion you prat, we need to work on this."

"I want to know what you saw." The Gryffindor insisted.

"And I told you." Draco spoke, irritated. "I saw nothing, Potter. The mirror was all black, okay? Can we move on?"

"Why was it black?"

"You're insufferable. I don't know." Draco lied. "I don't really care either, so this conversation ends right now."

"Fine, fine." Harry looked over at the parchment, obviously uninterested. "So we're picking what projects we want to do?"

"Just the essays." Draco said, dipping is quill in some ink then circling the essays, there were six total, not including the reflection essays. "I'm taking these three," Draco put a small asterisk near the three he wanted. "I'm a better writer than you are, so I took the ones that count more." Draco waited for a remark from the Gryffindor, defending his essay writing abilities.... but none came.

"You're so pale." Harry said looking appraisingly at Draco's ashen forearms.

"I rather enjoy it." Draco said defensively. "My body is one consecutive colour, no ugly tan lines, unlike you." Albeit he was confused about the continuous turn in conversation, the blonde did not enjoy being targeted for criticism.

"I never said being pale was a bad thing." Harry's gaze turned from appraising, to hungry in a matter of seconds. Draco deftly moved his arm away from Harry, and put it in his lap.

"I think you need to leave now, Potter. You obviously find staring at me much more important than this project." 

"We can work on it later."

"Quite the procrastinator, I see. You can either stay and work on this essay," The Slytherin pointed to a piece of parchment with a couple sentences written on it. "Or you can leave."

"I have better things to do than this." Harry mumbled and began shoving his things back into bag.

"Oh, right. Do some more drugs, because obviously it makes you such a wonderful person." 

Harry looked at Draco as if he had just been slapped. "I don't recall you ever turning them down!" Harry stood up, hurt and frustrated. 

"I'm also not the one whose life has come to revolve around such things. I'm also not the one who is a hopeless addict."

"Fuck you, I'm not an addict, I could quit anytime I wanted to." Draco slowly stood up and pushed his chair into his desk.

"Is that so?" He drawled, leaning against the desk idly. "I highly doubt that Potter. You're high right now, and you were just about to leave so you could go and get yourself more fucked up." The blonde Slytherin looked down at his nails, an act that made him appear bored with the conversation. He knew the air of indifference in this particular discussion would make Harry's blood boil. 

"You prick." Harry grabbed the smaller boy's shirt, forcefully pulling him away from the desk. "You don't understand a thing." He growled. Draco was frightened of the dark haired boy, but he refused to let himself show it.

"I'm quite sure that I do." Draco said defiantly. 

Making a strangled, incomprehensible noise, he pushed Draco to the floor, his head hitting the side of Harry's chair on the way down. "You don't know a fucking thing." He said again before he stalked out of Draco's room, leaving the blonde wizard curled on the floor, clutching his bruised head.

"Shit." Draco bit his lip and slowly, _very_ slowly, began to sat up. His head pounding violently. Eventually the damaged teenager managed to make his way to the bathroom to assess the damage done to his head. He had a small bump forming on the right side of his head. Could have been worse, Draco thought, wincing as he touched the tender area, Potter could have punched him in the face, instead of just push him down. For that, the Slytherin was thankful. 

He was still annoyed with Harry, though.

Opening the cupboard under the sink, Draco took out a small vile of potion that said '_Healing'_ in his own neat handwriting. Taking in a mouthful of the grotesque liquid, Draco recapped, and restored the bottle. His stance swaying slightly as he waited for the potion to take effect.

The pain didn't go away completely, but it dulled down to only a minor irritating thumping. His previous intake of drugs probably having something to do with upset of killing the throbbing completely. A soft knocking on the door pulled Draco from his concentration on his head. 

When he opened the door, he unexpectedly found Potter on the other end. "I'm sorry." He muttered, looking down. "I didn't mean to get upset."

Draco stared at the solemn Gryffindor, then opened the door more, offering the slightly taller boy to come in. Draco was angry with the black haired wizard who stood meekly in his bedroom, but with the three different drugs working against his mind, he could bring himself to argue anymore.

Harry noticed Draco's some-what lethargic moves, and his face showed concern. "Did I hurt you?" 

Draco nodded slightly. "Not too bad, albeit I presume you gave me a concussion. Thank you for graciously taking away my option of sleep for the night." 

"Shit, I'm sorry." Harry looked around briefly. "Want me to stay?"

"No, you can't get caught in here. It's pretty late anyway. I can labor over some school work, I'm up for most of the night anyway."

"Right." Harry nodded, unsure of what to do.

"Is that all you came here to do?" The Slytherin glanced over at Harry, who stood in the middle of his room. 

"No, I..." Harry trailed off, obviously changing what he was going to say. "I forgot my bag too." He explained, pointing to his bag that rest near where Draco was sitting.

Draco raised on eyebrow, questioningly. "Then take it and run then, Potter." He drawled. "I've things that need to be done."

Harry shifted uneasily before he walked over and grabbed his bag. "Err... G'night." He muttered as he made his way across the room and out the door.

Draco just stared as the door slowly shut. 

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End: Chapter Three 

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Author's Notes: Due to… errr… stuff… My next few updates will be a little slower in coming. Je regrete to the few who are actually reading this.


	4. Inviting Complications

Confection

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Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and all characters contained within this story are all property of J.K. Rowling, with the exception of Chester Devroy, he's owned by me. Bum Bum Bum, and all that other disclaimer stuff.

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Author: Abyss

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Email: IndelibleChild@yahoo.com

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Rating: R

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Warnings: Slash, Angst, implied rape, Drug abuse, Self-Mutilation

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Genre: Drama

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Summary: Draco's life begins to crumble when he accidentally plunges himself deep into his fathers schemes to over throw Voldemort. Can a new friend found in the most unlikely place save him from his own self-destruction? Takes place 6th year at Hogwarts.

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Author's notes: Thank you to everyone who reviewed. *puts a silver sticker star on you* You rock!

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Chapter Four: Inviting Complications

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A Horrible Indifference

From now on, I will know to stay away from MDMA. I feel horrible. The kind of horrible where the thought of ripping out your intestines and hanging yourself with them becomes a rather pleasant idea. Although I cannot say that the thought of death has never been an enjoyable thought… It is currently not the basis of my thoughts for the moment. My entire body aches and I have the distinct feeling that I will be spewing forth vomit from my mouth within the next few hours.

If I get those little red spots on my face because of broken capillaries when that happens, I will not be very happy. Those splotches of red are not very appealing on anyone, especially someone as pale as I am. The thought of curling up in my bed and sleeping the entire day does not seem like such a bad idea at the moment, but I would have a personal loathing for myself if I spent all day being that lazy. 

My head begins to throb painfully whenever I lay down, anyway. That is probably due to the oh-so-pleasant concussion I am currently in possession of (no thanks to boy wonder, Harry Potter). I would like to slap the bastard for that.

Last night proved to be an interesting night at that. Potter was right when he speculated that I enjoy being in control too much to allow myself to fall victim to the effects of drugs… From now on I doubt I will be experimenting with such substances again. Things happened… that were not meant to happen. It honestly sickens to reflect upon the events last night, because of the absurdity in which the events occurred. 

I've never been one to let situations take a hold of me, yet I cannot help but feel utterly defenseless to the occurrences in my life at the moment. I fear for what will happen if I do not regain some of this control soon… 

Draco paused and looked up from his journal for a thoughtful moment. The darkness that pervaded his room was a comforting one, yet his mind remained unsettled.

__

I will soon be leaving for home. He wrote, the small sentence making him shiver. His left hand wavered over the parchment, quill slightly shaking, unsure of how to continue. _Father expects me to surrender myself to the Dark Lord, receive the Dark Mark, forever possessing the burn upon my ashen flesh. It frightens me I do not know how to avoid the situation. I am not even sure if I can at this point anymore. My frazzled plan was damaged once again due to the events surrounding last night._

I am not even sure if the damn Gryffindor is angry with me or not. I am sure my comments that were made last night have inflicted some destruction upon our precariously settled friendship. Sure, he did come back to apologize and assure that things kosher between us. Yet there is a difference between talking to Potter clean, and talking to Potter while he is high.

I almost wonder… Draco let the unfinished thought trail off.

__

Almost…

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"I suspect mother will not even be at home." Draco drawled, bored with the conversation already. 

"Hold up, Malfoy." Blaise interrupted, roughly swallowing whatever was in his mouth. "I thought you were staying here for break?"

Cocking an eyebrow, the blonde idly wondered how the other Slytherin knew Draco had originally planned to stay at school. "Change of plans." Draco stated, casting a small glance over to Pansy, who was animatedly talking with some fourth year. Probably plotting the young Malfoy's painful demise, now that she had overcome the initial shock of Draco's overtly angry disposition towards the horribly unattractive female. 

Draco picked at his lunch some more before he realized that Blaise was still talking to him.

"… Complaining about someone steeling things from his truck. His own damn fault for not locking it I say. Had I known it was unlocked, I'd probably gone through it myself. That bastard is loaded."

Despite missing half of what the other Slytherin had said Draco knew immediately whom he was talking about. "His father has done surprisingly well for a filthy mudblood. Hacker has always tried to get in my father's good graces. No one really knows where their loyalties lie though…"

"Goyle reckons Hacker's already got the mark. Said he saw it this summer."

"That fat-ass is about as reliable as a half-breed. Honestly, believing him? He is as stupid as he is overweight. That entire family is enormous, it is horribly grotesque, I have never seen a pureblood family care so little about their appearance before."

Blaise chuckled lightly. "You've always been one for image Draco. One might call you vain, if they weren't so damned frightened of you."

The blonde smiled, slightly amused. Letting his eyes wander over to the Gryffindor table Draco replied. "It only appears that Slytherin's are frightened of me. 'Tis the only reason Snape allowed me to have my own room."

"Don't be so callow. The Hufflepuff's are terrified of you. Reckon a good amount of any first years are too."

"As true as that might be, they do not really count, now do they? A Hufflepuff? The name alone is disgraceful enough, no need to discuss the type of people in that house, they are as callow as all the first years." 

Blaise snorted. "Suppose you're right." A moment of silence passed between the two. Draco continued to look at the Gryffindor table, Potter wasn't there. "What's going on between you and Potter?"

Draco internally cringed. "My business with the stupid bastard is no concern of yours."

"People are beginning to talk Draco… You can't not hear what they're saying about you two." Draco looked over at Blaise; very rarely did he call the other boy by his first name. Very rarely did he take part in a personal conversation, initiate one, nonetheless. It made the blonde wonder what Blaise was up to, he knew better than to think that the other Slytherin actually cared.

"If I didn't know you well enough, _Zabini_, I'd say that you might actually care." 

"Don't be ridiculous, Malfoy." Blaise waved his hand in dismissal. Draco knew that Blaise was cold on the inside, he knew much more about the boy's life than Blaise knew. Anyone growing up how the young wizard did was enough to kill any feelings they had inside. "It makes Slytherin look bad if you're whoring around with the Gyrffindor's Golden Child. Some have started questioning your loyalties. Hell, _I'm_ beginning to question them."

Draco turned to face Blaise, cocking an eyebrow thoughtfully. "I will kindly remind you to not insult me so blatantly, or I will personally see to it that your penis is permanently detached from the rest of your body." The blonde's light eyes bore down into Blaise's, untrusting.

"I expressed only concert for you." Blaise said carefully. "Your threats do not scare me like some stupid first year." Draco's eyes narrowed. "You're the only person I could almost call a friend but just because of the tentative friendship, it does not mean that I am going to step around your temperaments. Take my words more as a warning, not as a direct insult to your questionable character." 

Oh how sentimental, Draco thought. The two young Slytherins stared at each other for a long moment, before they both smiled. Blaise sounded an amused "humph."

"You of all people should know which side I am really on." Draco muttered, looking away. "I have business with Potter. Call it a temporary arrangement with a precariously placed understanding. Potter has something I need, and I have a few shockingly delightful secrets the stupid Gryffindor would hate to let loose."

Blaise gaped at Draco for a brief second. "You're blackmailing the Golden Child? Oh! Oh it doesn't get much better than that, Draco it _really_ doesn't, I commend you."

Draco smirked. He moved to say something else, but the bell rang signaling the end of lunch. "To be continued." 

Blaise nodded. 

¤¤¤¤¤

Earlier, in potions, Draco saw Harry drop a note into his bag, requesting him to meet him in the dungeons later. Slightly intrigued, the blonde agreed. So, as a result, he had shrugged off Blaise for some alone time before his talk with Harry. Draco, (finally pushing aside his usual judgement) was now lying in his bed, doing absolutely nothing. It was honestly the first time the Slytherin could remember doing anything of the sort. He was just lying there…

Being lazy.

And not doing anything.

And he was in his bed.

For no reason at all.

"This is so overrated." He muttered to the ceiling, but the blonde made no attempt to move. Draco idly remembered a conversation he had had with Blaise, where he explained the wonders of lounging around the entire day doing absolutely nothing. Draco, completely baffled at the mere thought of purposely not doing anything had called his friend crazy, and slothful. And now, even though Draco lay in his bed, purposely doing nothing at the moment still thought it was a crude idea. His mind was running, trying to force him to get up and do something. Yet something inside pulled him down keeping him on the bed, almost like he needed the experience of true laziness. Draco snorted and closed his eyes; occasionally his thought process did not make much sense. After a long moment of silence, Draco started to hear the slow ticking of his watch and realized he still had to meet with Harry.

Draco wished he hadn't told Potter that he would meet with him. The Slytherin didn't feel like being in the company of others tonight, especially dark-haired Gryffindors. "Screw you, Potter." Draco scolded the ceiling. Sighing dramatically, he pulled himself from the bed and walked to the closest mirror, making sure his robes and hair were neatly in place. Blaise wasn't exactly wrong when he had implied that the blonde Slytherin was vain, but Draco would never admit that aloud.

The halls were always cold, he observed. No matter what time of the year, the stone corridors were always cool. As the blonde wizard walked through the old school, he contemplated the curious location of Potter's and his meeting tonight. It was questionable, why the young Gryffindor would pick a location so inconvenient to himself. Sure, it was close for Draco, but boy wonder had quite a walk from his tower to the dungeons. The two hadn't been back to that empty room since their first meeting. Draco paused in the middle of the cold hallway. It seemed so long ago that he had caught Harry in the dungeons. Shaking his head, he walked on. The thought of Harry always being around had grown accustomed to Draco, so much that the dark-haired boy's frustratingly irritable presence had become a staple, it was almost awkward to think of a time that it hadn't always been around to torment Draco's intelligence. 

As Draco walked further into the dungeons, the air became denser, and the familiar musty smell grew stronger. The smell reminded him of the darker parts of the basement at the manor. Draco shuddered at a few stray memories that surfaced to the top of his mind. Despite the fact the Slytherin had always liked these parts of the castle, for what reason, it was truly unbeknownst to him, but he did nonetheless. It was almost comforting. Maybe it was because he knew that he was safe at Hogwarts… at least he was safe from his father. His thoughts carried on its sardonic route of his father until he found himself in the familiar room, Draco held in a frustrated groan when he saw the room empty. He never could understand why Potter always had to be late for everything. 

Someday, Draco promised himself, he would make sure that the stupid wizard would learn the importance, and the appeal, of punctuality. Albeit he knew the cause was hopeless. 

"Why are you always here before me?" He heard a voice from behind him speak.

"Because." Draco turned around. "Unlike you, I can appreciate the understandings of punctuality."

The blonde held in an amused laugh at Harry's blank, confused face. "Erm…. Whatever."

Draco shook his head lightly. "What are we doing here, Potter?"

The other wizard looked down at his feet. Draco noticed Potter moving his jaw, an act that hinted he was playing with his tongue ring, a recent nervous habit. The immediate change in the other wizard's disposition sparked Draco's interest slightly. "Ikindawantedtotalkaboutlastnight." He mumbled to the ground.

"Well that's interesting." The Slytherin crossed his arms over his chest, trying to maintain his passive exterior, knowing the situation between him and Potter was about to get very unpleasant. "Once you have stopped talking to your feet, could you kindly tell me what you wanted to discuss with me?"

"Last night…" Potter was still looking at your shoes.

"Was that directed towards me, or your shoes?"

Harry groaned. "You're insufferable," the dark haired boy looked up "you know I was talking to you."

Draco smirked. Silence passed, neither wizards talking. "Well…?" the blonde inquired.

"You make things so much more difficult than they should be." Harry walked a little closer to Draco. "I want to know what happened last night."

Draco looked at Potter for a moment, appraising him. "Two teenagers made some very bad decisions due to the not very-wise usage of some very stolen drugs."

"That's it?"

"Yes." Something flickered in the dark-haired wizard's green eyes, what it was, Draco wasn't too sure. "What? Were you expecting to confess some undying adoration towards you? I can assure that I have no feelings for you. I barely like as a friend, what could possibly make you think otherwise? Whatever goes on it your head, permanently remains a complete mystery to me, you honestly baffle me."

Harry rubbed his hands over his face briefly. "I really fucking hate you sometimes, Draco." He muttered into his hands. A comment the Slytherin was positive, he wasn't supposed to hear. He smirked, wondering if Harry had known that he had just spoken aloud. 

Then it hit him.

He had called him Draco.

His gaze unwavering, an expressionless face remained fixed on Harry, who, from the looks of it, had not picked up on the new awkwardness of the situation. 

He had called him Draco.

At that moment in time, Draco did not hate anything more than the sound of his name coming out of Potter's mouth. Why? He wasn't entirely sure, but from the stance the Gryffindor seemed to be taking on the events of last night, and the way that that simple five-letter word came out of his mouth…. Draco had a pretty good idea what Potter was insinuating, or at least attempting to, albeit, he seemed to be doing it unconsciously. Unsure of what to make of the situation, Draco remained quiet, for once.

"I almost wonder…" Harry began, looking somewhere off to the left of Draco. "Almost…" he trailed off and let a long moment pass. "I've never… I've never lost complete control of myself. I know I've managed to really fuck myself up." He laughed at himself and ran his fingers through his dark hair. The Slytherin found his disjointed behaviour and speech interesting. Growing up in the environment he did, he had never been exposed to this type of outward emotional turmoil, and despite his personal distaste for it, always found it fascinating to watch. People who could so easily let their emotions show had always been interesting to Draco. "I've done a _really_ good job of doing that. But I've always had some control, and I know I _know_ you're the same way. I… I didn't exactly… not wanted… Oh fuck. I didn't kiss you on purpose." He paused a little. "But it wasn't exactly an accident either." Draco idly noticed how Harry's eyes glowed in the dark, much reminding him of a cat, although he noticed that the Gryffindor would not look at him.

A long moment had passed as the words finally began to settle in. Draco pressed his lips together and slowly nodded. Drawing in a slow breath Draco carefully began to talk. "I am very aware of the events of last night, but whatever it was for you, I can assure you, Potter, for me, it was just an accident I cannot rectify. I am not sure what you made of that kiss, because I know I kissed you back, but I know, I _know_ that was not because of the carelessness of my character. It was because of my careless experimentation with drugs."

"That's it?" Harry gaped at the other wizard, shocked. "That's your excuse? Just blame the drugs? That's so utterly Slytherin, but so completely pathetic. I can't believe you lowered yourself to that level! I thought you'd be a little more responsible than that!"

Draco smirked crudely. "How very Gryffindor of you." Draco sneered. "Jumping headfirst into a situation where logic tells you to not further involve yourself. I do not understand how your small mind works, Potter." Draco walked closer to Potter, deliberately trying to make him feel uncomfortable. "Just because you feel a certain way, does not mean that I am going to. I think it naïve of you to assume that last night was anything but an accident."

"Last night might have been an accident." Harry looked right into Draco's eyes and slapped him hard across the face. "But that wasn't." 

Draco's eyes widened in shock at the unexpected hit. Quickly regaining his composure he sneered at the Gryffindor. "If you ever strike me again, I promise you that I will castrate you. Any hope you have of rectifying the damage you have inflicted with our… whatever you want to call this, has just been slapped away by your hand. Do not expect me to ever be cordial to you again."

Draco stalked from the dungeons back to his room, receiving odd stares from the few people left in the common room. He kicked shut his door and stormed over to his desk and sat down… very angrily. The conversation alone had been enough to drive Draco into fury, but he hit him! He had actually struck him! Draco growled out into the bedroom, lost somewhere between anger, confusion, and hurt. 

The blonde wizard gripped the edge of wooden desk in front of him so much that his hands ached from the pressure. He invited the pain; at least he knew that wouldn't try to kiss him, then strike at him. He couldn't believe what had happened. The Malfoy wished that he had blown off Potter and stayed and talked with Blaise.

Closing his eyes trying to make the rage subside, Draco released his hands, his fingers sore and tight. He needed to think about what happened with a clear head.

He had called him Draco.

The blonde wizard shuddered remembering how his name sounded coming out of the other boy's mouth. It was strange. Draco huffed, realizing how few people called him Draco. Why shouldn't they? It was his name after all. It seemed far too informal though, now that he thought about it. He cringed at the thought of having Crabbe or Goyle call him Draco.

Then again, the thought of those two made him cringe regardless. 

So Potter was gay. At least… that is what Draco got out of the whole situation. He was surprised that he hadn't noticed before. At the same time though, the Slytherin had a slight distaste for relationships in general. The intimacy involved appalled Draco. He winced at the thought of kissing Potter. Physical contact of any kind had always made Draco uncomfortable. His body was his own; he did not want anyone else touching it. Hunching over the desk and rubbing his face with his hands, frustrated, Draco groaned. He was so angry with himself for getting involved with Potter. So very angry.

Roughly getting up, the distraught wizard decided it was a decent a time as ever to go to sleep.

¤¤¤¤¤

Weeks had passed and the only time Draco would talk to the Gryffindor was when he had Glamour Magic with him. Even then it was clipped, rude, and belligerent. Oddly enough, Blaise seemed to have taken Potter's place. It intrigued him to think that he could ever have a real friendship with the dark wizard. Then again, his sarcastic tongue and his dark sense of humour greatly complimented that of Draco's. It almost surprised him to notice how well they actually got along, considering how long the two have known each other.

He rather wished that they had been paired together in Glamour Magic. At least he could be working with someone tolerable. Harry had tried numerous amounts of times to apologize to Draco, all of which were nothing more than annoying… much like the rest of his behaviour. But hate him as he might, Draco had always had a little soft spot for the dark-haired Gryffindor, although that was something he wouldn't even admit to himself.

He did however notice that he was becoming slightly more pleasant to Harry. Well… not exactly pleasant, but considering it was Draco_ Malfoy_ talking to Harry Potter, boy wonder, it was as close to pleasant as it would probably ever get. 

"Do you have any of those essays written?" Draco drawled, lazily eyeing Professor Devroy discussing how he was going to be testing them on word magic soon, and to make sure that the assessment he gives them goes into their portfolio. 

"No, I don't." Harry replied shortly, drawing little… whatevers on the side of notes. 

"Perhaps you should." The Slytherin rolled his eyes. Of course he had to be paired with the school's laziest wizard. Draco noticed everyone was starting to leave and began to pack his things away. He had difficulties concentrating in class today.

"Mr. Malfoy, could you please stay for a minute?" Devroy looked up from his desk at the blonde Slytherin. 

"Great…" Draco breathed as he stood walked over to the desk. "Yes Professor?" He smiled politely.

Draco watched the pale man lean back into his chair and look at Draco, assessing him. "I'm not usually one to get too involved with my students lives, I don't care enough about the trivial things most kids fret over these days." 

The younger wizard smiled lightly, smart move, Draco thought. "But, I do try to keep an eye out for some of my better students..." Devroy motioned for Draco to take a seat at one of the front desks, but being the Malfoy he was, he refused. He preferred standing anyway. "I've noticed some of your recent work has been a little weak. I'd like to inquire as to what has been troubling you?"

"Nothing is wrong, Professor." Draco lied. "Just some recent stress." Devroy raised an eyebrow at his student, Draco knew he didn't buy the lie. Rolling his eyes and changing his stance slightly he began to speak. "Potter and I have come across some… complications." 

Devroy's black eyes continued to stare at him through his rectangular glasses, then laughed slightly. "You two certainly seem to have an… interesting relationship." He paused for a moment. "I just do not want to see my best student fumbling because of some silly trifle. You're the only in the school that seems to understand the class properly."

"Thank you." Draco replied, unsure as to where the conversation was headed. 

"I wouldn't really expect any less from Lucius' son, though." Draco's eyes darkened dramatically at the mention of his father's name, he felt his mouth unconsciously twitch. He didn't like being reminded who his father was. Something happened at that moment though, Draco noticed, to Devroy's Snape-like attitude. Understanding flickered in his eyes. At that moment, Draco knew that Devroy was aware of the type of relationship the young Malfoy had with his father.

"I should go." Draco said quickly, not knowing if Devroy would try to make him talk about it. 

The walk from the Glamour Magic classroom to the Slytherin dorms was short, while this usually would have been appreciated, today Draco wished it had been longer because it would have given him more time to contemplate the seemingly out-of-place conversation he had just had. No, the blonde wizard though, it was the discussion they had, it was the look on the professor's face that was off putting.

Could Devroy know what was going on? 

Draco entered his room and stared, confused. There on his bed lay a rectangular package, neatly wrapped in plain red paper. Curious, yet wary, the blonde made his way up to his bed. Atop the brightly coloured box sat a folded piece of parchment with "_Malfoy_" written on it. The penmanship was immediately recognized as Harry's.

"Alright how did you get in here, Potter?" The Slytherin asked the empty room while he picked up the parchment, unfolding it.

__

"I know you're angry at me, but this is something I know you'll like. You can't open it till Christmas, it's charmed so you can't.

Merry Christmas, you stupid git.

~ Harry" 

Blinking, Draco turned his attention back to the gift. Why had Potter gotten something for him? Rolling his eyes, he grabbed the box, surprised by how little it weighed, and placed it on the top of his trunk. He'd debate if he should take it home or not later, he had an astrology chart he had to finish before his class tonight.

But he couldn't help remembering that one night in the dungeons….

He had called him Draco…

¤¤¤¤¤


	5. Full of Empty

Confection

Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and all characters contained within this story are all property of J.K. Rowling, with the exception of Chester Devroy, he's owned by me. Bum Bum Bum, and all that other disclaimer stuff.  


****

Author: Abyss

Email: IndelibleChild@yahoo.com

Rating: R

Warnings: Slash, Angst, implied rape, Drug abuse, Self-Mutilation

Genre: Drama

Summary: Draco's life begins to crumble when he accidentally plunges himself deep into his fathers schemes to over throw Voldemort. Can a new friend found in the most unlikely place save him from his own self-destruction? Takes place 6th year at Hogwarts, AU. 

Author's notes: I just want to point out something before anyone reads any further… I need to mention to everyone that because of how I have characterized Draco, everyone else seems OC (mainly Harry) because everything is seen through Draco's eyes, and therefore everything he sees has his biased view. Draco does not see Harry all the time, therefore you don't know how he acts around others. Everything you read isn't exactly the truth; it is ALL based on Draco's thoughts and emotions… Just thought I'd throw that one out there. And… *Gives everyone who has reviewed a hug*. 

This chapter is just one long journal entry from Draco.

¤¤¤¤¤ 

****

Chapter Five: Full of Empty

¤¤¤¤¤

November 15th.

Musings of the Mind…

As I sit here and sip from my small glass of water in my dark room, my only source of light is from the glowing flame of the candle lit on my desk that is emanating an eerie flickering golden light. The only sound coming from a small humming that is always present in the air with my contemplative face relaxing and scrunching back up every few minutes. 

I have managed to realize a few things about myself that seemed almost invisible to me before. That invisible black-cloud that seems to permeate its way through every second of my existence, I have concluded, is self-contrived. I have noticed that in the past whenever I feel what I think is happiness, I quickly manage to do something that pushes me back into the grasp of which is my own misery. The determination of keeping myself within the confines of negativity must come from the sole factor of fear. Is it not truly fear that keeps a person from doing anything? Fear of change? Fear of loss? Fear of struggle? Perhaps I merely posses apprehensions of that change. I know what sadness feels like, and come to think of it, I am not quite sure if I could ever conceive a life without such a thing burdened upon me, yet... maybe... just maybe that is my major flaw. 

I do not truly know or understand what happiness is, I cannot grasp the concept of being at peace with myself, and maybe... just maybe... that is why I remain the way I am. I am fearful of that change, or exploring that new boundary, because I found out who and what I am, and where I wanted to go in this misery, and maybe... if that fades... so will who I think I am, and who I think I am going to become. Could that change disassemble the being that I am? Maybe... but then again... who knows? But now that I have determined the cause of all of my self-loathing, what do I do? Do I try to remedy this fixation? Or do I leave it be? Will understanding the source help make plausible solutions? Or does it simple mean I am merely enlightened of who I am (or perhaps simply what I am not)? Am I bound to not understand the ideals of grasping what is known as happiness? 

Can I fix myself? 

Am I even broken?

It was not too long ago, when I discovered the sensation of self inflicted physical pain. It started with an accidental cut. I had sliced my finger open on a rigid edge of an old piece of parchment. It has happened many times before, and I am sure it will happen many more times in the future, but it was different on this occasion. My usual reaction would be to flinch at the uninvited pain, and then worry over whom else had touched that book and what might be floating around in my blood stream, while hastily casting a healing spell upon my wounded hand. None of that happened. 

I stared at the small cut, that slowly started to fill with blood and I smiled. I smiled at the slight stinging sensation I felt around the afflicted area. 

That is where it started. 

Razors are more than easily accessible here than most would think what with potions and herbology; it is not questionable to have a few razors on hand. At the moment I could not really say what my plan had been when I had picked it up and fiddled with the small glinting object in my hand. I suppose I was just curious. Curious as to what a proper cut would feel like at the moment, or maybe I was just looking for an excuse to hurt myself. It would be uncharacteristic of me to say that I held in a lot of pain and torment, yet is it uncharacteristic of me to even be writing in this journal, so I give myself the right to say it within the confines of this worn leather.

Right now I wonder if it was just a way for me to get out what I was feeling on the inside, or if maybe I wanted to view pain.

When my father hit me, he never allowed any cuts or bruises to stay on my body; he always healed them, making sure every mark on my body had disappeared. I have always been denied that simple conclusion of being able to visualize the source of my pain. It might be a feeble justification, but I am not trying to justify my actions, I am merely trying to speculate.

It felt wonderful, as sick as it sounds. I like knowing I have control over something… Control over my own body and the pain it feels, it is magnificent. I have found that feeling of power I thought I had lost long ago, and I adore it.

I have that lost feeling of power again, and I adore it.

I can finally see what pain feels like and no one can take that away from me.

Not even my father.

Holiday break will prove to be interesting when father finds out what I have been doing. I am not naïve enough to think that he will not find out, he always does. When he does I am sure he will personally see to it that my scars as taken care of. Although I am quite sure that eventually even I would have gotten rid of the scars.

They might show something of internal pride for my eyes only; they are also ugly and I do not like the thought of having something ugly permanently attached to my body. I idly wonder how many other people are guilty of the same self-abusive acts. How many people keep secrets as deep as mine?

Perhaps people are not as secretive as they would like to think. Everyone has their give away; something to hint at what is going on inside their head. 

I look back on the progression of this school year, and I wonder. I wonder about how much I have changed and how those around me have changed as well.

Despite the relationship I have with my father, he has always kept in contact with me. When I am away at school we can play 'Happy Family' quite well. Recently however, things have been quiet. It almost frightens me for his silence can only mean that something extremely important is happening at home.

Which only means trouble for me over break.

My birthday has just passed and if I know how my father's mind works, my parents have arranged for me to receive the Dark Mark. What a birthday gift that is.

"Happy birthday son, we are going to make you a slave."

Being a Malfoy means being born into privilege. I have more money set aside for me than I could ever possibly spend, people respect and answer to me simply because of my last name, and I have never had anything sort of the absolute best. But I cannot feel like I do not already have a damned future. All because of my last name.

Malfoy.

I used to adore my name. It used to mean so many things to me. It was one of those powerful names. The ones that demand respect and are saturated with aristocracy, the ones that have such a presence about them in conversation or on paper. I used to love the way my name sounded.

Draco Malfoy.

It had a sort of unique elegance to it. A name you knew people would remember. It created more self-pride than anything else could, but not anymore. All that has changed for me, the fraudulent air has cleared and left nothing but a bitter chill in my lungs.

I think I understand what Harry means now. Having a future so cut out for you that it is not even living anymore. Stupid bastards. Do they not realize what is inside of me? That I cannot bow down and be a puppet? Some how I will learn to cut these strings attached to my limbs. They need to see that they cannot attach a string to my mind.

That will never be theirs.

Perhaps that is the reason that Potter is the way he is. Perhaps he is trying to prove to everyone that he is not the Golden Boy they all think he is. Perhaps he is even trying to prove it to himself.

I honestly believe that he is not quite the Gryffindor everyone believes he is.

No, there is much more that lies behind his green eyes other than innocence and bravery. From what I have seen of him, he has experienced too much to keep all the demons at bay. 

The black darkens that light, even if you do not want it to come.

There was a time… When I had been angry with Harry. Particularly about that one night… that one stupid meeting. The only thing that truly bothered me about that night had been one simple word he said to me.

My name…. 

It puzzles me. I do not understand why it truly vexes me so, nor do I understand why I constantly think about it. But I cannot help but feel that that had some unimaginable importance. Even now, I look back through my more recent entries and I reflect back on my thoughts, the more I realize that some invisible boundary has been broken. I see myself calling him "Harry" when I think of him, the name "Harry" comes to mind, not "that stupid Gryffindor" or "Potter". Just Harry.

It intrigues me merely because I do not know when this started to happen. Was this a gradual change? Had I occasionally called him Harry and it just started happening more frequent so only now I could notice its presence? Or had he become Harry that night. When I realized how largely I could impact his emotions.

When had he become a real person to me?

Will there ever be a time when I will call him Harry to his face? I wonder what would happen if I did. I still do not believe that he knows I heard him call me Draco. Perhaps even he did not realize it.

But I have. And it will not go away.

¤¤¤¤¤

****

Author's Notes: This came out much sooner than I had hoped, so hooray for all of you! I finally have my computer back so my updates (hopefully) should be more frequent. I dedicate this chapter to my new song I am recording! Yay! 

I love all who review. 


	6. Synthetic Distortion

Confection

Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and all characters contained within this story are all property of J.K. Rowling, with the exception of Chester Devroy, he's owned by me. Bum Bum Bum, and all that other disclaimer stuff.  


****

Author: Abyss

Email: IndelibleChild@yahoo.com

Rating: R

Warnings: Slash, Angst, implied rape, Drug abuse, Self-Mutilation

Genre: Drama

Summary: Draco's life begins to crumble when he accidentally plunges himself deep into his fathers schemes to over throw Voldemort. Can a new friend found in the most unlikely place save him from his own self-destruction? Takes place 6th year at Hogwarts.

Author's notes: This is the first chapter in which Lucius appears, and I _know_ the relationship you see between Draco and Lucius in this chapter is going to confuse you, it's meant to. At this point in the story Draco's mind becomes a little... dysfunctional. 

¤¤¤¤¤ 

****

Chapter Six: Synthetic Distortion

¤¤¤¤¤ 

Lucius nodded to his son as he approached. "Draco."

"Father." Draco looked up at his father; he could see something strange in his father's eyes.

"I trust you have been well?" His father made light conversation. It almost appeared to be fatherly, but the cold tone in his voice suggested otherwise.

"Yes." The younger Malfoy replied. "Although, I began to worry when I had not heard from mother or yourself." Draco internally cringed. The formality of the conversation irked him. The two walked swiftly, but it appeared almost lazy to those who observed. Draco knew how much he looked like his father and the two oozed aristocracy with each arrogant step taken. 

Draco caught a smirk sneak up onto the older Malfoy's face. "Your mother and I have a surprise for you Draco. I am quite certain that you will enjoy it."

The young wizard's blood went cold. Draco forced a very convincing smile. "That is very thoughtful of both of you. When will I get to see this surprise?"

"Soon." Was his father's short reply.

The teenager held in a shiver.

The ride home was quiet and try as he might, Draco couldn't help but feel overwhelmingly awkward in his father's presence. How could he face this man that he called father? How could he look at him when he hid away so many secrets from him? Secrets he kept hidden in a little brown book. He would find out, he had to. He always did… 

Turning his head the young Slytherin looked out the window. A small sigh escaped his lips and he could only hope that it merely sounded bored. He wasn't even home yet and he already wanted to go back to school. He felt a certain kind of foreboding as he thought of going back to the manor. He hadn't bothered to heal the fresh wounds on his slim legs earlier this morning and he wondered if his father would notice the slight limp in his stride, no one else had picked up on it. They were either too stupid to pay attention to details like that, or he was just being paranoid. 

It was probably a combination of the two.

The ride back to the manor was uneventful and although bored, Draco was, at the same time, greatly relieved. He was glad when he was left to his own devises until dinner, even though there wasn't much time to be had alone, at least it would give him enough time to unpack everything. The young blonde made his way through the familiar halls of the place he had been told to call home. It wasn't dark and cold which so many people assumed. Simple elegance spoke of comfort and of money in every room, and it _was_ a beautiful place. 

Dinner proved to be uneventful until Lucius dropped his fork into his dinner plate while staring at Draco, demanding that the younger Malfoy go directly do the study after he had finished his meal. Which is why Draco stood uncomfortably in his obscenely large study. _What had he seen?_ Is all the blonde wizard could think. He nervously began to pace the room, being alone with his father for any length of time frightened Draco. 

Surly he hadn't done anything to provoke his father's unfavourable attitude towards him. Not so early into the vacation... He couldn't have possibly... 

His thoughts were disrupted when he heard the study door open and close softly, he felt his body freeze. Turning to face his father, Draco was met with an expression he wasn't quite sure to make of. Lucius looked tired, for the first time, Draco noticed his mouth was curved downwards, now so much in a frown as it just seemed like it took too much effort to have it in any other position. Piercing eyes were dulled down, expressing an emotion the younger Malfoy couldn't quite place... 

"Draco..." Lucius pressed his lips together and looked off to the right of Draco. "We need to have a talk about something rather important." 

The smaller boy simply nodded, not trusting his voice. The older Malfoy walked to the center of the room where Draco stood. Staring at him for a pensive moment. "Let me see your arms." His tone was demanding, yet strangely gentle at the same time.

His breath caught in his throat, Draco didn't reply. With widened, fearful eyes he lifted his forearms up to his father. He felt his muscles clench for a moment when Lucius lightly grabbed his arms and turned the inside forearm, facing upwards. Lifting the long sleeves of his son's robes, Lucius exposed a row of scars on either arm. Draco closed his eyes and in hailed a slow, shaky breath. He was so used to wearing the long sleeved shirts as part of his uniform, he had forgotten all about his first attempts at marring his skin. Angry with himself for his lack of foresight, the small wizard re-opened his eyes and looked up at his father, surprised that he didn't appear to be angry. "Care to explain these?" He asked quietly.

Not knowing what to say, Draco continued to start at the older man, and for the first time that he could remember, Draco felt all of his emotions weighing on his face. "That's what I thought..." Lucius let go of the smaller boy's arms. Draco let them fall loosely to his side.

"Father, I-" the young wizard fell silent, noticing Lucius taking his wand out from his cane. _No... Please no..._

"Hold our your arms again." The blonde felt his heart speeding up and his breath quickening as he slowly lifted his arms back up, revealing the scars once more. What was he going to do? Draco watched in fear as his father's wand rose just above his arms and confusion struck him when he heard his father mutter _"Evanesco macula"_. Looking quizzically at his father, Draco felt heat spread through his pale arms and a small tingling where the scars had lain on his thin arms. Lucius had just removed the scars....

"I could, I suppose," Lucius began "Yell at you and tell you to stop that disgusting habit, but we both know you would not listen to me, and I suppose, I could sit you down and have a long uncomfortable discussion with you that would only upset you. Or," he paused for a moment "or I could send you off to get you help." Draco looked up at his father in horror, send him away? Was he really doing to do that? Lucius chuckled sardonically. "No, no Draco I will not be sending you off, because we both know how you act and that it would just be pointless. I am however going to suggest that you stop making yourself a human cutting board, and if you want to talk about whatever is obviously bothering you... you could talk to me."

Draco's eyes grew cold at the last five words. "Talk to you?!" Draco stepped back and looked at his father incredulously. "Since when I have been able to talk to you?! You've never been there for me! Never! Do not start to pretend now!" The young Slytherin wasn't quite sure what he was saying, and he knew he would regret it later... but at the moment he didn't care. "I don't understand it! When had you decided to attempt to _almost_ act like a real father would?! When the FUCK did you start to care about me?!" 

Lucius moved to put his wand away before he would attempt to talk to Draco, but seeing his wand hand move just the slightest bit made Draco violently flinch. Taking notice Lucius turned his full attention back to his only son. Either deliberately ignoring what Draco had previously said, or at least waiting until later to address that particular issue, the older wizard quickly put his wand away. "Why are you afraid of me Draco?" He said softly, his eyes studying the wizard in front of him. Draco's eyes flashed with confusion, laced with fear. "I'd never strike you." Draco opened his mouth to speak, shock clearly evident on his face, but then closed it, letting confusion and sadness saturate his body. Why did he have to lie to him? "Draco?" His father's blank eyes stared at him.

He suddenly felt tired. His stance wavered and Draco felt his eyes droop slightly, why did things have to get more complicated? "I think," the young wizard paused for a moment "I need to sleep." He said wearily. Staring for a long moment at his son, Lucius finally gave a defeated sigh.

"Go to your room then." He said before stalking out of the study. His father didn't seem so big anymore, when walking away from Draco; he mused. Thinking about what happened tonight, though, was definitely something the blonde wizard wasn't prepared to do tonight. Sluggishly making his way up to his room, the only thing Draco would allow himself to think about, was his bed.

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Draco sat hunched over his large desk writing carefully in his journal, his right arm tucked close to his body, and for the first time he could remember, Draco felt the cold trails of long since shed tears drying on his face. How long has it been since he had allowed himself to cry? So many things were happening to him... that he just didn't understand...

__

My longing to be away from this place I must call home grows a little more every day. Most of which has probably come from my first few days. Father found out on the first night... While ashamed of the haste in which it took for him to figure me out, I am not very surprised. Lucius Malfoy always knows so much more than he lets on.

The second night father sat me down in his horrible study again and we had a "talk". I swear that that was the single most uncomfortable experience I have ever been subjected to. No one will ever know what it is like to have a "heart to heart" with Lucius Malfoy. Standing naked in front of one of the most influential people in the wizarding world today, while he looked for and removed every self-inflicted scar and wound, creates more embarrassment for me than I thought was possible. To be honest... It is something I am going to try to push as far from my mind as I can. 

He tells me he has something important to share with me... Something I will see after Christmas. When he mentions it, his eyes light up with an unfamiliar gleam. I am not sure if I should be frightened or curious, or perhaps a mixture of both. All I know is that I can feel the beginning (or end?) to something largely important. One question keeps coming back to my mind though... 

What is my father hiding?

I do not understand the reasoning behind his behaviour. It frustrates me, to see my father lie to blatantly to me. I do not quite understand what exactly happened that night in his study, all that I know is that it confuses me. What is he playing at? Does he assume that trying to play good father now will erase all these years of pain from my mind? The one thing that got to me the most though was that he was acting if I had made everything up, as if he was not aware of the past 17 years of his life. Further more, why would he suddenly start caring about the effects of his bad parenting now? Is he planning something? Or is that strange emotion I see in his eyes actually love? He almost seems concerned with how I act around him now, as if I had only imagined the things I remember so clearly. 

So what I don't really have any physical scars to be able to prove what he has done to me, my memories should be sufficient enough... right?

I am not merely imaging these things to try to justify the reasoning behind my own demons.

Am I?

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Author's Notes: I apologize for my lack of updates... but I had been hit with the worst writers block I've ever experienced. I know what I wanted to say... I just couldn't get it out right, so after trashing three different versions of this chapter I gave up. I'm not very happy with this piece of my story... It is very short and it doesn't really get across everything I wanted to say... sorry guys. The next chapter shouldn't take me so long to put up though. 


	7. Parental Warning: Implicit Content

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Title:Confection.

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Author: Abyss.

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Email: IndelibleChild@yahoo.com.

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Rating: R.

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Genre: Drama.

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Warnings: Slash, angst, implied rape, drug abuse, self-mutilation.

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Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and all characters contained within this story are all property of J.K. Rowling, with the exception of Chester Devroy, he's owned by me. Bum, bum, bum, and all that other disclaimer stuff.

  
**Summary**: Draco's life begins to crumble when he accidentally plunges himself deep into his father's schemes to over throw Voldemort. Can a new friend, found in the most unlikely place, save him from his own self-destruction? Takes place 6th year at Hogwarts.

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Author's Notes: I apologize again for the lateness of this chapter, but I have a good reason this time! I've finally got a beta, Carrie, and she's _awesome_. She's the co-author of the story 'Unlikely Beginnings' and the owner of the HDRH yahoo! group and website, which I'm also archived at now (I'm in Slytherin). Yeah! So if you guys want to see the good version of this story, I'm going to point you in that direction. The link is in my bio. *blows kisses to everyone* 

  
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Chapter Seven: Parental Warning: Implicit Content

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Draco made lazy circles in the expansive yard at the manor on his broom. Quidditch had never been so unexciting for him at school, but it didn't really surprise him too much. Although, for the first time Potter had lost the snitch to that Ravenclaw Seeker, her name escaped Draco's mind, Draco had felt something like pride when Slytherin had beaten Ravenclaw at the very next match. Everyone had expected that girl to get the snitch before he did. 

His mind was silent for a few minutes as he rode around, simply enjoying being able to fly without having to compete with someone. Although, he did miss the excitement that came from everyone at a Slytherin vs. Gryffindor match... Or... Maybe he just missed Potter; not that he did, mind you. 

When he had first joined the Quidditch team back in second year, everyone had just assumed that he had bought his way onto the team. Hell, he'd heard it so many times that he almost began to believe it himself. He was a good Seeker, he had won many games for his team in the past five years (had it really been that long?). Just because he wasn't as good as Potter, didn't mean he couldn't play the game. The Slytherin had always admired Potter's flying ability, even if he did credit most of it to his broom. Anyone could fly well enough with the brooms Harry had grown accustomed to using. 

Thinking about the dark haired wizard caused Draco's mind to think about the gift. It intrigued him, what could Harry possibly get him that he could actually want, or need? 

Two more days and he'd find out (not that he really cared... right?).

Draco shivered in the cool air, sighed dramatically, and flew his way to the ground. He had come outside for the sole purpose of avoiding being in the house, more specifically his father. He had been acting strange since the beginning of break, acting concerned and constantly staring at him. It was unnerving to have Lucius Malfoy's undying attention. The blonde shivered again at the afterthought, but just blamed it on the cold air as he made his way into the manor.

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Steam filled light blue bathroom as Draco opened up the shower door and stepped in. For Draco, there was nothing more relaxing than long, hot shower. Nothing.

The warm water felt nice on Draco's pale skin as he stood under the water, letting it stream over his chilled body. He had always enjoyed taking showers, there really wasn't anything like washing away the day's (or night's) activities. It made him feel clean, not only on the outside, but as if he had cleaned his mind of all the dark thoughts that he found himself in possession of all too often. People could find comfort in some of the strangest of places; for Draco it had always been the small, white tiled cubicle that made up the shower.

As dumb as it might sound to others, it was kind of like his personal time; no one could invade his privacy in that moment so it gave him time to think. Think about anything and everything, and he did, and he always felt ten times better when he got out. His mind was clear and he felt clean. 

Draco let his hands trail down over his chest as he looked idly at his self-inflicted scars. His father might have gotten rid of the ones on his arms, but Lucius Malfoy didn't bother to assume that Draco would cut anywhere else on his body, or perhaps he didn't really care, as long as it wasn't visible. The thumb on his right hand absently ran over a larger blemish. Most of the marks were such a vibrant colour of pink, making them stick out against his ashen skin. Some scars had faded down to a shade similar to natural skin tone, making them almost invisible; the only hint of a scar was the long thin bump, giving his stomach an interesting texture. The young Malfoy thought back at his times alone in his room with the small silver object that he had come so accustomed to holding in his fingers. His eyes drifted over to a pale, almost vertical scar on the left side of his abdomen, he remembered it as his first cut, his first hidden one, anyway. He remembered how much different it all felt when he started cutting areas that he knew he could hide at all times. Moving from your wrists to other body parts is a large jump, it was finalization almost. Finalizing the habit, the action no longer being a call for help, but an invisible burden, a dirty little secret that meant there really was something wrong with you... you just couldn't admit it, and you didn't want to. 

What would Harry think? 

Draco groaned; he was supposed to be angry with the stupid Gryffindor, not wondering what he would think of Draco's slightly eccentric habits. Besides, it's not like he'd ever see the scars anyway, unless the blonde decided that his clothes were no longer good enough for his body.

Or, if there was an embellished repeat of that kiss. Draco shuddered at the thought. Few times would the young Malfoy allow himself to admit that he had made a bad decision, but that moment had, by far, been his worst mistake in his short seventeen years of life. 

At the moment, though, a stray thought in the back of his head spoke, at the moment it had felt almost divine... Draco wrapped his arms around his stomach and leaned back against the tiled shower stall, just because he had kissed him, didn't exactly mean that he was gay right? The blonde wizard didn't particularly like anyone, he just presumed he was one of those odd asexual humans that come about ever so often... there had never been any desire to be with anyone before... but, then why did that night suddenly mean so much to him?

Then again... Harry's lips had been soft. Inviting, even...

More into the moment than he realized, Draco smiled faintly, wondering if the rest of Harry's skin was as soft as his lips. For a male, Harry had very feminine lips; they were plump and seemed to have a permanent pout on them when he wasn't laughing. The blonde didn't quite notice his left arm slipping down his stomach towards his thigh as he wondered how the dark haired Gryffindor's eyes could be so vibrantly green, and how, when he was looking at something he found particularly pleasing, you could see the slightest bit of hazel. Of course, his jaw would also be moving around playing with that stupid tongue ring... Draco's eyes closed thinking about the metallic feel of the barbell in his mouth. Harry's lips had tasted sweet, something like confectionery sugar and something that was completely Harry, and then the interesting addition of that small bar of metal pulled a reaction from Draco's subconscious that he wasn't really aware of. 

At the time of the kiss, Draco hadn't noticed the Gryffindor's hands resting on his hips, but now, remembering the night so vividly, he could almost feel Harry's hands on him. For the first time the blonde could remember, the recalled touch felt inviting to him, like a pleasant, comfortable weight. 

Draco jumped when he felt his hand brush against his slowly growing arousal. Snapping his hand back up his body, Draco threw his head against the shower wall, hard, letting the loud bang mix with the harsh, shooting pain that encompassed the entire backside of his head.

What the hell was he planning on doing? 

He wasn't really going to... while thinking about Harry? He blushed. 

Suddenly feeling extremely naked, Draco turned off the shower and stepped out. For the first time, he felt dirtier coming out than he did before stepping in. Missing the option of a quick dry spell (despite the rumors, the manor had no such wards that enabled Draco to perform wand magic without it being traced, much to his dismay), Draco grabbed a towel and dried himself. 

The only adornment on the young wizard's body as he walked from his adjoining bathroom to his bedroom was a white bathrobe. He had always liked the bathrobes; they were soft, warm and comfortable to wear against the skin. He had just laid out his choice of robes on his bed, when small tap on his door halted Draco from completely untying the cloth belt on his bathrobe. Opening the door, he was overwhelmed by the rushing feeling of exposure from his severe lack of clothing as one of those stupid house elves looked up at him.

"Master Malfoy wishes to see Master Draco in the study now." It nodded, then just stared up at Draco, almost like it was waiting for a reply. Not giving it much thought, Draco stared back for a moment then shut the door in its face without a word. He had always hated house elves, they were ugly, creepy looking things that couldn't dress or talk right. It was rather unnerving for him to know that there were so many creeping around the manor. 

Of course, by the time Draco had gotten to his father's study, it was devoid of the older Malfoy. He looked around at the large study, knowing his father would return. While the blonde could appreciate the importance of keeping up appearances, the study was much too extravagant for him, with large pieces of furniture, fancy woodwork and ornate wall hangings. Although the room was filled with many objects, it was still cold and uninviting. It was mostly the overbearing, cherry wood desk that sat in the middle of the room; in an odd way, it almost seemed like it was belittling you, even though it was just a piece of furniture. Draco's further scrutiny of the room stopped when a few pieces of parchment caught his eye on the desk. His father was never careless enough to leave any kind of paperwork lying around so openly. 

Curious, Draco walked around the large desk and peered down at the papers.

In small bold letters stood out the words 'Major Animation of the Dead: The Dead Spirit Incantation'. His eyes widened and he picked up the parchment, looking over what the spell contained. Using necromancy could only mean one thing... Lucius Malfoy was going to bring back Voldemort. Unsure of what he was reading, Draco began muttering it aloud to himself. "Spell allows its caster to animate the body of any corpse. If recently deceased, the caster can summon any spirit into the body." The young wizard immediately dropped the papers and looked up towards the sound of the study door being opened. 

Lucius stared at Draco and cocked an eyebrow. "Draco..." he began. 

"Father, I..."

Draco stopped when his father helped up his hand. "Had I no intention of showing you, I would not have left that out, I can assure you. I trust you understand what my plan is, then now?" 

"You want to bring back the Dark Lord..." Much to Draco's surprise, his father started laughing. 

"Had you of read further, you would realize that I intend quite the opposite to happen."

"I'm afraid I don't understand." Draco's confused expression turned curious as his father walked around the desk and sat in the large dragon hide chair. 

"Sit down and I'll explain." He waited until Draco had sat himself down on the opposite side of the desk before he began. "There comes a time, Draco, when the cause of a wizard's work becomes an unachievable goal because of their involvement." The older Malfoy looked down briefly at the papers, his eyes gleaming with an unfamiliar emotion. "Over the years, I've come to notice that those faithful to the Dark Lord believe in only one thing... the Dark Lord himself. Allegiance to one's leader is important, but so is believing in the cause behind the leader. I suspect most are unaware of what that cause even is. I want to make sure they understand what the cause is... even if that means the need for new leadership. It is easy enough to understand that Voldemort would never step down," Lucius paused, "which is why he needs to be removed... permanently. Surly by now you know what this means."

"Yes, father," Draco said tightly. Merlin, his father wanted to get rid of Voldemort, for good, but for himself to step up into the Dark Lord's place. Draco wasn't quite sure what to make of that information. 

"I need to know, Draco, before this conversation goes any further, if you are on my side. I need to know that your loyalty lies with your family." He paused for a moment; Draco could almost see some form of blackmail forming in his mind to ensure his participation. "I cannot do this without you, Draco. You're the only one I can trust, son."

That, however, was not exactly what he was expecting. Surly that was just him trying to guilt him into it? His father had never shown any affection for him in the past. This break had been different, though...

Even if things were different now, they couldn't change so suddenly, unless his father had just been so consumed with the Dark Lord that he acted out his frustrations on Draco... was that even possible? Surly Voldemort couldn't have that much of an effect on his father to change the way he would treat his own son. Maybe he was so hostile towards Draco because of his frustrations with the Dark wizard? Perhaps he was that way, only because it was obvious that Draco would always love his father, no matter how many times he would tell himself otherwise. It's not like he was his father's last hope, though, surely he wasn't that important to it all?

There we so many other people out there who would do anything to be able to stand under the light that the Malfoy name had always been in possession of. Merlin, he was so confused. Could he really believe in that hopeful look in his father's eyes? Could he really have been wrong about the man that sat in front of him? Could doing this give him the father he had always desired? Long minutes passed as Draco stared off, somewhere past his father, while he contemplated the shock of his father's news.

Not seeing any reaction from his son, Lucius continued. "I would hate to see talent such as yours go to waste, you deserve much more than the expectations this world has for you. You're a strong man, Draco; even with your flaws. " He paused. "Will you help me?"

Draco stared at his father for a long moment. This was the only chance he would ever get to be so close with this man, maybe, just maybe, Draco could have that relationship with his father he envied so much in other families. 

"Of course, I will father."

Lucius smiled. "We have things to discuss, then." The older Malfoy opened up a drawer and pulled out some more parchment. "I assume that you read that in order for the spell to work properly for our purposes, we need a fresh body-"

"Father," Draco interrupted, "I did look over the spell, but I am unsure as to how it will do what you want."

The older wizard frowned at being interrupted, but answered the question regardless. "The spell only creates a temporary animation, once a spirit is inside, and the spell is released, the body tries to stay alive and removes the energy from the spirit in trying, because of the complications of the spell, the spirit is stripped of all its energy."

"Oh." 

"Anyway," Lucius turned back to his original topic. "I have a task for you. As I mentioned, the spell requires a new body. The younger the body, the better the spell will work, in our favour. Of course, it cannot be too young, or the Dark Lord would suspect something, so we're going to use someone of your own age, Draco. Blaise Zabini."

Draco stared wide-eyed at the man before him. Did his father expect him to kill one of the few people he could actually call a friend? Lucius laughed lightly. "Oh, Draco, I don't expect you to kill him at Hogwarts... all you have to do is make sure he's at the Three Broomsticks the weekend before you come back for Spring Break." Lucius' brows furrowed slightly at his son's expression. "You do want to do this for me don't you, Draco? I can't do this without you."

Draco continued to stare at the man in front of him. "Does it have to be Blaise, father? Why can't it be someone more like... say, a Weasley? Perhaps Boot? Hacker, even? I wouldn't mind too terribly if he were to accidentally disappear."

The older wizard chuckled, a noise that sounded very strange coming from the Malfoy. "As I am sure you don't know the full story behind Zabini's relationship with his son, I don't think you could quite understand the reasons behind my decision. Know that it's for the best, though, even if you don't want to think that. His father and I, though, we've come to an arrangement, and regretfully that requires the use of his son." Lucius noticed the conflicting emotions on his son's face. Surprised by the actual expression of any emotion, he spoke up again. "I was unaware that my choice would bother you so much, Draco. You do need to know that he would be dead anyway. Think of him as being helpful to our cause."

Unsure of everything that seemed to be building up inside of him, Draco just nodded. "Yes, father." Blaise... dead? Draco couldn't see himself helping his father kill off his friend. That thought made him stop. Friend? Was Blaise really a friend? A real one? What type of person did it make Draco if he could do that to him? Draco mentally shook his head. "May I go now, father?" The older wizard's hard gaze was uncomfortable, and made the realization of what just happened all the more difficult.

"Yes." Lucius waved his son off before reaching for a quill. Draco stood and left the study, as soon as the doors shut behind him, he ran. 

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I've never known internal conflict like this before. Things have always been so clean cut. My father was the bad guy, and whenever he'd rip me apart, I'd be there to pick up the pieces, unsure as how they were all supposed to fit back together. Every time I start to get used to something, or I think I've found a way to fix it, something comes along and tears apart everything again. Shambles; I always feel like I'm in shambles on the inside, almost like, when I was made, that something vitally important was left out of me, making me the way I am. 

I feel broken. Maybe I left a few pieces out when I had to pull myself together remove again. Betrayal is something I'm supposed to be good at, but then why does it feel so wrong of me to tell my father that I will help him? Help him kill the first person I think I could call a friend. But is it really so wrong? Blaise had a damned life to begin with... didn't he? Why did it really have to be Blaise, though? Hacker wanted so badly to work at my father's side, why not him? 

Maybe it's all just a trick, Draco wrote. _Maybe father is just playing off my emotions to get what he wants from me. I wouldn't put it past him. I would never be able to forgive myself, though, if I let this opportunity go by. _

I have a chance to have a father again...

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End: Chapter Seven

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	8. From the Inside

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Title:Confection.

Author: Abyss.

Email: IndelibleChild@yahoo.com.

Rating: R.

Genre: Drama.

Warnings: Slash, angst, implied rape, drug abuse, self-mutilation.

Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and all characters contained within this story are all property of J.K. Rowling, with the exception of Chester Devroy, he's owned by me. Bum, bum, bum, and all that other disclaimer stuff.

Summary: Draco's life begins to crumble when he accidentally plunges himself deep into his father's schemes to over throw Voldemort. Can a new friend, found in the most unlikely place, save him from his own self-destruction? Takes place 6th year at Hogwarts. H/D Slash.

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, I heart you all. Thanks to my beta, Carrie, she's the greatest. If anyone has any questions, I'm more than happy to answer them, you can either e-mail me, IM me, or just leave a review and I'll get back to you on them as soon as I can. Also, to save my own ass at the moment, because I've noticed that multiple "R" rated HP fictions have been removed for being "inappropriate"… 

'Confection' stays within the boundaries of an appropriate "R" rating, if m/m relationships, or the glories of boy-fondling bothers you, then I suggest you briefly skim over the end to this chapter, it's important you know what happens though, this chapter is rather important.

Ratings:

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G - no swear words, minimal violence, no sexual situations, no slash. Basically, nothing a Disney cartoon wouldn't have.   
**PG** - modified swear words (darn, shoot, dang), low violence, no nudity, no sexual kissing.   
**PG13** - modified or mild swear words (darn, shoot, damn), moderate violence, no or partial above-the-waist nudity.   
**R** - swear words, violence, nudity, mild sexual situations.   
**NC17** - swear words, extreme violence, nudity, fully described sexual situations.

(Rating system borrowed from foreverfandom)

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Chapter Eight: From the Inside.

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Draco opened up the brightly coloured box and stared down and at three different rolls parchment. Confused, he picked up the heaviest roll of paper and looked at it more closely. When he unrolled it, the first thing he saw was 'This History of Glamour Magic' written on it, in Harry's messy handwriting. Holding in an amused smile, the blonde looked at the other two that he found were labeled 'Glamour Objects and Their Uses' and 'Dangers of Dream Change'. Amused and surprisingly happy, Draco laughed and shook his head slightly. "Harry, you stupid bastard, I...," _can't believe I said that._ The young wizard's mouth still open, he dropped the parchment and stared, unfocused with wide-eyes at a blank spot in front of him. Did he really just say that aloud?   


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No, he thought._ No, I did not... I am going to pretend I didn't, anyway._   


"Just keep packing, Draco. Just keep packing…" he muttered to himself. The blonde was glad to be going back to school; he had spent way too much time purposely staying out of his father's sight, which was actually much more difficult than one would presume. Continuing to mutter unintelligible things to himself, the young wizard continued to place his belongings into the trunk.   


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Draco growled to himself when he stepped outside the entrance to the Slytherin common room; of _course_ Potter wouldn't be there; he still didn't comprehend the meaning of punctuality. Sighing dramatically, the blonde leaned up against the stone wall. He'd wait for five minutes, and that was it. Leave it to Potter to be late, especially when he had to apologize to certain blonde Slytherins. Stupid Gryffindor.   


After about thirty seconds had passed by, he sighed again; he was already bored, and his back was getting cold from the stone. While contemplating whether or not he should continue to wait, he felt something soft brush up against his arm. "Potter?" he whispered, backing away from the wall towards the entrance, wary.   


A moment of silence passed before Draco heard some rustling, then a floating head appeared. The Slytherin cocked an eyebrow. "May I inquire as to where the rest of your body is?" he asked, eyebrow still raised.   


"I'm wearing an invisibility cloak," the dark haired wizard looked behind him quickly, then pushed the cloak back over his head. Draco rolled his eyes and turned back to the entrance, saying the password, but waiting until he felt a light brush go by him until he walked through the portal himself.   


"Where did that come from?" Draco asked once the door was shut to his room. He watched Harry pull the cloak off and lay it on over a large, dark green armchair. The young wizard looked rather twitchy about that particular subject to Draco.   


"Uhmm… It was my dad's," he said. Harry started to play with the barbell in his mouth when the Slytherin raised his eyebrow at him for the second time in the past few minutes, looking for an explanation. "I don't feel like talking about it."   


Making a small, "hmm," as Potter lay down on his bed; he studied the Gryffindor. His hair had grown, whether from purposely growing it out, or just sheer laziness (Draco suspected the latter), making the Slytherin notice that his hair was wavier than he had originally presumed. (Not that he had spent much time pondering Potter's grooming habits.) His face looked older without his glasses, and better, in Draco's opinion, those glasses had been hideous. Draco coughed and shifted slightly, when it finally sunk in that he had been staring at Harry.   


"Don't make it a habit to lie on my bed, Potter. You might contaminate my sheets." Draco rolled his eyes when Harry giggled at him.   


"But it's comfy," he whined, curling up on his side facing Draco, who was now sitting in his desk chair, leg's crossed and arms folded over his chest. They stared at each other for a moment.   


"What are you doing here?"   


Harry sat up, looking serious now. "I wanted to apologize," he spoke after a moment of silence, looking away from Draco. "So, I'm sorry. I'm an ass, and I don't want you to keep ignoring me, because I like being around you."   


Well, Draco certainly wasn't expecting that kind of apology. Leave it to the Gryffindor, though, to say something stupid like that. Cocking his head slightly, Draco stared at Harry's disposition; he seemed a little embarrassed, and that made the Slytherin grin. "I suppose I'll let it go, only because those essays you gave me were decent enough work, for a Gryffindor." His words slightly shocked himself, since when did he start letting people off so easily? Draco blamed it on being too tired to further argue, even though a tiny voice in the back of his head whispered about green eyes and a stolen kiss… he ignored it.   


"Did you actually wait to open it?" Harry asked, his face brightening up at the almost-compliment.   


"What do you mean?" The blonde looked at Harry confused. "You said you had it charmed so I couldn't."   


Draco frowned at the smirk he saw on Harry's face. "I lied, but..." Harry's smirk changed into a soft smile that looked much more fitting on the Gryffindor. "Thank you for trusting me."   


His mouth open, ready to argue back at the statement, Draco stopped himself. He really did trust Potter, didn't he? He had trusted him enough to not lie about something as stupid as a charmed gift. Mumbling something unintelligible about the colour red and stupid bastards, the Slytherin turned around in his chair and grabbed the beginnings of their portfolio. It was time for a slight subject change, he thought.   


"While you're here, we can start putting this together," he said, motioning for Harry to sit up completely, while he took his spot on the bed, grinning at the look of disappointment on the dark-haired boy's face. He found a comfortably safe distance away from the Gryffindor on the bed, but close enough so they could both work over the portfolio at the same time.   


"Do you have your essays finished, then?" Harry asked, looking at the blonde beside him.   


"Of course I don't," Draco waved his hand "I'm taking four more classes than you are, my work load is substantially larger than yours is."   


"Three," Harry corrected.   


"What?" Draco looked over at Harry.   


"You're only taking three more classes than I am."   


The blonde shook his head slightly. "Divination does not count as an actual class, Potter. Don't dilute yourself into thinking otherwise."   


Harry rolled his eyes and ran his fingers through his already mussed hair. He saw Draco staring at his movements. "Yeah," he started. "I know I need to cut it," he finished, assuming that was the reason for Draco's contemplative gaze.   


Blinking a few times, unaware he was staring again, Draco laughed a little. "I rather like your hair, Potter," he said, lightly ruffling it with his left hand. "It's got that 'I've just been fucked' look. It works for you."   


Harry raised an eyebrow and looked at Draco questionably, an act that reminded the young Slytherin of himself; he didn't like Harry doing that, not at all. "You put that eyebrow down right now!" Draco spoke sharply, yet still in a joking manner, and lightly pushed on Harry's shoulder, jostling the other boy playfully. Thoughts in the back of his head pointed out Draco's affinity for touching the other wizard on his bed; he dismissed them.   


The Gryffindor just giggled.   


"You sound like a girl when you laugh." Draco twisted his back slightly, feeling and hearing a satisfying popping in his spine before he leaned back on the bed.   


"I'd rather laugh like a girl, than look like one all the time. It's gotta suck being you." Laughing, Harry smiled as he watched Draco's eyes narrow.   


The Slytherin growled at Harry before tackling him, rolling over top to successfully pin him to the bed, where he'd laid back himself after Draco had. "If you could remember half of the things you say to me when you're high, I doubt you'd be making such remarks about masculinity, Potter." Draco's eyes burned into Harry's, silver against green. Harry became nervous, but then again, he didn't know that Draco was lying, now did he?   


"What exactly do I say?" Harry swallowed, looking up at Draco.  


Draco smirked. "I'm not telling you," he said in a singsong voice.   


The dark haired boy stared at Draco for a moment then looked away awkwardly. "Right, then…" he said, unsure of himself.   


Harry looked back up at Draco's face. That pensive _expression was back on his face, making the Gryffindor confused. "Draco?" he asked. Not a second later, Harry's eye's widened, almost to a comical point. Draco smirked.   


"Well, that's interesting," Draco said, still not moving himself from off of Harry, even after he felt the slightly smaller boy shifting, obviously uncomfortable with the situation at the moment. The smirk fell from Draco's face, and was replaced with a searching gaze, why didn't it feel so awkward to hear his name coming from Harry's mouth anymore? Why had that suddenly changed?   


Without even thinking, Draco leaned down and pressed his lips against Harry's, hesitant and unsure. What was he doing? He pulled back and stared at Harry, brows furrowed. The boy under him stared back, probably wondering the same exact thing Draco. A small moment passed between the two before Harry lifted his head up and captured the blonde's lip into a slow, lazy kiss. Draco shuddered, feeling the tip of Harry's tongue brush over his bottom lip; this feeling was all so… new.   


The taller boy rested on his forearms as he tangled his fingers into the long tresses atop Harry's head, gasping when he felt cold hands on his sides, how had Harry's hands ended up under his shirt? Harry's tongue gently pushed into Draco's mouth, causing Draco to shiver again. The hands on his sides slid up and moved slowly against his chest, the sensation made his stomach muscles jump, so very new…   


Placing another short kiss on Harry's mouth, Draco pulled away and stared at the wizard under him again. Why did it feel okay to do this with him? Bright green eye's softened "You alright?" Harry asked, his voice deeper than Draco was used to hearing.   


"Yes," Draco pulled himself off of Harry. "I'm just…" he trailed off, sitting down next to the smaller boy. After a few moments of silence, Harry leaned up, his elbows propped behind himself, waiting for a complete reply. "I've never done… anything…"   


"Ever?"   


Draco shook his head, looking into his lap where his hands rest. _Not like this._ The blonde missed the smile on Harry's face, but he did notice the smaller wizard moving in front on him, on his knees. "I think we should get you all caught up then." 

Not giving the blonde a chance to reply, Harry lifted Draco's bowed head, and began kissing him again. Without hesitation, Draco allowed himself to be pushed back onto the bed. It felt awkward when Harry covered Draco's body with his own; awkward, but not unwelcome. He shivered when cold fingers met his chest again, and moaned when Harry's tongue was back in his mouth. The two boys both froze on the bed, however, when Harry's fingers brushed over a few bumps on Draco's stomach. The dark-haired boy leaned back, and moved his left hand across the front of Draco's still-covered torso. Probably wondering why he didn't notice them before.   


Still too shocked to do anything, Draco watched the wizard atop him slowly drag up his shirt to reveal dozens of scars. Harry's head tilted, and with blank eyes, he seemed to study the marks. Draco's stomach twitched self-consciously at the attention. The blonde failed to hold in a shiver when fingers began to trace the chaotic designs. Fingers trailed over a long, seeming vertical scar on the left side of pale wizard's abdomen, and Draco took in a shaky breath. His first hidden cut… the blonde pressed his eyes shut, and bit the inside of his lip, what was he supposed to do now?   


Things were silent for a moment, and Draco kept his eyes closed, not knowing if he could stand to see Harry's curious eyes stare at something that was so personal to him. Movement, rustling, more movement; Draco frowned, Harry was going to leave. The Slytherin's eyes opened when he felt lips press against his skin, what was Harry doing? He lifted his head up as far as his neck would allow, looking down at the boy who was placing soft kisses on each scar that adorned the pale torso. Harry chose that time to look up at Draco; a few tresses of hair falling in front of his face, he smiled up at Draco. The blonde let out a deep breath he hadn't known he had been holding in. Harry's head rested against Draco's stomach for a moment, and lips mumbled something against the pale skin, making Draco squirm a little from the ticklish sensation.   


Harry crawled up the Slytherin's body until his head was right next to Draco's ear. "I don't want you to hurt yourself anymore," he whispered, his breath sweeping across Draco's ear. Not giving the blonde a chance to reply, Harry kissed him again. It was different, though, more urgent, determined almost… like he was trying to prove something to Draco; prove to him that it didn't matter what the other wizard had done. Draco could have slapped himself for that thought, but became more occupied when Harry's hands were on his skin again.   


The blonde could feel Harry smile through the kiss, when his own tentative hands reached up and played with the hair at the nape of Harry's neck. Harry's mouth soon left Draco's, trailing kissing down to his neck. With his mouth still open, Draco attempted to calm down his breathing, gasping slightly when Harry's tongue trailed over his prominent collarbone.   


Draco cried out softly, tossing his head to the side, when Harry began to grind his hips into Draco's. Almost embarrassed for enjoying what he was feeling; it was all so different… so very different than what he was used to…   
  
He could hear Harry moaning into his neck, while he continued to grind his hips into the wizard below him. Harry's tongue traced the coils of Draco's ear, taking the lobe into his mouth, gently sucking on it. "Mmm… Draco…"   


Draco froze. So very different from whom he was used to calling his name.  


__

Pressure. "Draco…" Tears. "Such a good boy." Pain, pain, pain.  


In a panic, Draco started mumbling incoherent things, and pushed at the dark-haired boy's chest, until he succeeded in shoving him off. "Don't touch me," Draco whispered, curling onto his side, and wrapping his arms around his knees. "Not again, no, no, you stopped. You stopped… you said you stopped…" Draco began to shake, this wasn't supposed to happen, it was all wrong… so very wrong.   


"Draco?"   


"No," Draco tucked his head into his chest, trying to hide from the pain.   


A hand touched his shoulder, and Draco visibly flinched. "Draco?"   


"I think you should leave now, Potter." Draco didn't move.   


"Look, I'm-"   


"Bye," he said firmly, belying his current state with that harsh, final word. If nothing else, the cold tone in the blonde's voice was what eventually made Harry gather up his cloak, and walk out of the room, a soft click of the door closing was the last noise before the unsettling silence took over.   


"I hate you," he muttered into his chest, who it was directed towards, though, Draco wasn't quite sure.   


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End: Chapter Eight.

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	9. Red Reflections

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Author's Note: Apologies for my lack of updates, I don't even have a good excuse… I hope this chapter makes all of you happy, though; most of it is through Harry's POV. 

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Chapter Nine: Red Reflections

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Draco sat at his desk, hunched over a book, sipping from a glass that held something in it that closely resembled blood; its sweet, warm taste helping to relax the blonde. _For so many years,_ he began, _I have been able to block it all out; to leave it sitting in some dark, forgotten place inside the complexities that rest within my head. For so long, in fact, that I could almost believe that those memories were never there, that they never happened. That invisible weight that was once avoidable becomes heavier, dragging me down, dragging everything down. _  


__

I could never admit the events in my life that turned everything into a sordid disaster, filled with bitter thoughts and a long since forgotten self-worth; but I am sure the implications made within my own reflections make it quite clear the events my past has held. _It's funny how things can work out like that; being able to avoid issues in your own mind, just to make life easier. I suppose I never realized how difficult it all would be to face when the time came for acceptance._   


__

Then again, I never thought a time such as this would come.   


__

I never had a real father; I had a mentor, a teacher. I might not have minded that relationship too much, if the events of which I learned my lessons had been different. The first lesson I can remember (although regretfully, I must add) is that of family loyalty. A bitter lesson it was, six years of the same pain, and it never got any easier, never.   


__

Violation is the worst kind of humiliation and shame that could be forced upon someone; I don't mean the word 'forced' figuratively either. You get to a point where you can just move on from the past… but something always comes back up and rips it all apart. I should have seen it coming, to be honest; I had just assumed that I'd be free of that disgusting feeling of shame once my father stopped showing interest in me…   
  


__

No such luck for a person as broken on the inside as I am. A slow sigh brushed past Draco's lips as he shifted in his seat, his breath making the flame flicker on the solitary candle that sat beside him on the desk. The light cast a strange, dark, and deformed shadow upon the opposite wall, and if anyone were watching closely, they could have seen a single tear suddenly fall from the silhouette. Draco closed his eyes when it slipped, and couldn't bear to open them. He couldn't look down at where the drip had hit the parchment below his bowed figure, and he couldn't watch that stray drop smearing like dark blood upon the slowly drying ink of the word he feared the most: broken.   


Long minutes passed as Draco sat, hunched over the leather bound journal, feeling compelled to finish what he had started; to finally get it all out of his head, but his hand refused to move anymore. He took in a shaky breath and re-opened his eyes, looking down at the neatly written words.   


Draco's hand clutched around his quill, and his face hardened into a sneer. "I don't need this shit," he growled to himself, slamming shut his book and walking away from his desk, convinced that anger was a much better alternative to sadness. He never did self-pity well; even the scars that lined his body hadn't been created out of pity.   


The material of Draco's clothes dragged across his forearms, making the smooth cloth feel rough and uncomfortable against his tender skin. He winced slightly, feeling scabs catching on the sleeves of his shirt. Draco stripped down to his boxers and walked the candle over to his nightstand before settling himself into his bed, his back against the headboard. No emotion went through him as he stared down at his arms, felt nothing as his fingers lightly traced over the fresh cuts. He never expected to have things get so out of hand. He chuckled lightly at the bitter irony of the statement. It never got out of his hands, though. No, his own hands caused the marks that covered his skin.   


His nails lightly scraped over the sensitive flesh of his arms, causing the blonde to shiver. Exactly what made him hurt himself, anyway? Draco frowned, not being able to come up with a better reason other than fact that he just simply enjoyed the pain. He could come up with plenty excuses, but that's just what they were… excuses. His left hand clenched into a fist; he was angry with himself. He shouldn't have been able to fall so easily. He roughly dragged his blunt fingernails over the yellowish scabs outlined in red, tender skin upon his forearms. Why was he so weak? Why was he so angry?   


He couldn't keep blaming his father for everything; it wasn't like he pushed the razor into Draco's hand and said**,** "Cut**.**" Draco's eyes softened, his father had even removed the scars that stuck out so boldly on his arms. Was that the same man that so easily took away the innocence that Draco once had? His head bowed, it didn't make any sense; none of it did.   


Feeling every emotion fall away from his mind, except for that same original sadness, Draco slid down into the bed; not caring if the blood that was slowly oozing out of his cuts ruined his sheets. He was determined to fall asleep before anymore tears could be allowed to fall from his pale eyes.   


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Harry lightly tossed his bag to the floor, left of his desk, surprising himself for being early. His feet, that barely touched the ground, swung back and forth a little, the boredom of waiting already settling in. The small Gryffindor propped his elbows up onto the hard wooden desk and let his head settle in his hands. In spite of being slightly restless, Harry felt good. He purposely had skipped the drug part of his morning routine, and for the first time since he could remember, his head felt clear. The foreign sensation almost made him feel like he was high, from the lack of his disjointed thoughts, and the easy, comfortable feeling of being grounded made Harry completely aware of everything around him, in a pleasant sort of way. A faint smile crossed his lips; he hadn't felt this way in such a long time…   


Of course, a little voice in the back of his head reminded him, it was still morning, and that he was bound to feel differently by the time lunch came round. Harry frowned at the thought. It was easy to admit that it felt strange this morning, when he put away his bag of DXM instead of actually taking one of the cream coloured capsules, but that wasn't the issue. However, it was the fact that he couldn't admit that he felt that needy pull to take something every time he felt one of his highs beginning to wear off that always managed to cause some form of internal conflict in the Gryffindor. Harry decided to force his attention elsewhere as more students began to filter in through the door.   


A familiar blonde Slytherin walked into the room, usual strut appropriately in place. Harry would have smiled if he didn't feel like something was wrong with the light haired wizard. The two young wizards' eyes caught for a moment, Harry smiling lightly, and Draco's face expressing curiosity, it was obvious the blonde was confused as to why Harry was already in class   


Neither said a word as Draco sat down, but it was evident that Harry was itching to say something. Draco ignored him. The smaller wizard sighed; Draco had to be the most difficult person he'd ever had to deal with. Harry stared, something was different about the blonde that sat next to him, but before he could further divulge in his thoughts, professor Devroy walked into the room.   


"You give me the first half of class without interruption; I'll give you the last half. So, sit down, be quiet, and take out your notes." Devroy paused momentarily, waiting for the class to comply. "Today we're going to be starting theory on Thought Change," he began, turning to face the black board behind him. "Thought Change has many similar properties to Glance Change; does anyone have any guesses as to what they are?"   


Harry stared down at his blank notes, back up to his professor briefly, then back down to his parchment. Sighing to himself, the Gryffindor looked briefly over at Draco, who was writing notes down, although he only looked half-aware of what he was doing. Harry's eyes shifted over to how Draco was sitting, slightly hunched over, with his right arm wrapped around his stomach, it seemed… awkward, almost. His eyebrows furrowed, _something _was wrong with the blonde, Harry could feel it, but what?   


The longer Harry stared at the Slytherin, the deeper Harry's frown became. Draco seemed so different today, but at the same time, he was exactly the same, Harry couldn't explain it. It was like watching television when the words didn't quite line up with the person talking. Perhaps the Gryffindor just wasn't used to being around Draco with a clear head, but if that was the case… was Draco always this way? No, the dark haired wizard thought, even when Harry was high, he wasn't _that_ oblivious… he hoped.   


"Mister Potter." Harry jumped at the voice, recognizing it as professor Devroy. "As much as you may enjoy spending your time staring at mister Malfoy, I am quite sure that he is not the one teaching this class. Please pay attention."   


Harry blushed a violent shade of red. "Sorry, sir," he said softly. Devroy rolled his eyes, and continued speaking, although Harry still did not pay attention. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Draco look over at him. Turning his head slightly, the dark haired wizard glanced back and smiled lightly, not being able to help the small feeling of joy he got when he received any kind of attention from the blonde. Draco's face of indifference turned into confused curiosity at Harry's strange smile, wondering what the Gryffindor was on that made Harry act so strangely.   


Harry's feet scoffed lightly on the floor, he was a little annoyed at the fact that he couldn't completely tune out professor Devroy's voice. He didn't know how much time had passed when Devroy had told the class to break off with their partners and work on their portfolio, but Harry was relieved. His wooden chair scraped roughly against the stone floor as he dragged it, along with his bag, over to Draco.   


Before Harry had a chance to say anything, Draco pushed a neatly written checklist in front of him, saying, "We've got most of our research finished already," the blonde began, "as well as the six main essays." Harry noticed that Draco stared at the paper as he talked, which confused the Gryffindor; Draco was one of those people that always looked at whoever they were talking to… it actually unnerved Harry sometimes, but it bothered him that Draco seemed to be avoiding him as much as he could.   


"Are you okay?" Harry asked, stopping Draco from talking. The muscles on Draco's back noticeably tensed at the simple question and long seconds passed.   


The Slytherin ignored the question. "I figured since we already tried working on Touch Change, this next essay won't take very long to finish, since the hardest part is always the practical work, and we already have a pretty good idea as to what we're doing."   


Draco had asked a question, but Harry didn't hear him, his own thoughts taking precedence over the portfolio he was supposed to be working on. He still couldn't get over how he felt. Sure, he didn't feel fantastic, but things seemed so much easier with a clear mind. The dark haired wizard thought back, remembering that there was a time when he was convinced that drugs had made the way his mind saw things so much more simplistic, made things easier to deal with. It was almost confusing, to see what a contradiction that seemed to be now. Harry looked at Draco, who was busy writing, and it also confused him how well he got along with the blonde Slytherin that sat next to him. They were exact opposites, but at the same time… Harry saw more similarities between the both of them, that it was almost comical. Had he have let the sorting hat place him in Slytherin… would he be more like Draco? He doubted it, but at the same time, it was possible, wasn't it? It's the surroundings you're put in that create the person you become, and Harry had no doubt that being in Gryffindor had definitely influenced the kind of person he had turned into.   


The last thoughts made Harry wonder what Draco's childhood was like. Sure, he'd heard all sorts of things, and he had always assumed that Draco adored his father, especially as the young Malfoy certainly never gave any hint that he didn't, but there was something off in the way that the blonde acted. Not just today, but always; it was almost as if something didn't quite fit, or perhaps there was just something missing from him.   


Like what had happened the other night, Harry thought. What had gone through Draco's head to make him react the way he did? He saw Draco behave in ways he never would have thought. Shy, and hesitant, he seemed unsure of himself, or perhaps it was the situation that made him wary. Something had happened, though, when he recoiled… panicked seemed like a better word. It had been such a pleasure being able to touch Draco, to be that close to him, it put an emotion inside of his head that Harry hadn't realized he'd lost. He wasn't sure what it was, but he knew that he liked it, but what made Draco pull away? Perhaps it had something to do with all those scars on his stomach.   


It was at that moment when Harry realized how those got there. Those marks had been self-inflicted; they had to be. Why would Draco do that to himself, though? Harry remembered how the blonde froze up when he had discovered them. There were spells you could use to get rid of them, and he remembered looking at them with longing, wishing he could use them, but knowing that they'd never work on the scar that adorned his forehead. Maybe he wanted them there? Harry shook his head; that was an absurd notion. Aside from the scars Draco had created, his skin was flawless. The blonde would have to be crazy to want to keep his skin marred. Harry's brows furrowed, but what if he did keep them there on purpose? What would make him want to do that? Harry sighed, confused.  


The Gryffindor was pulled from his thoughts when he heard a cough next to him. He looked over to see Draco writing. His eyes widened when he saw exactly how much he had written. He bit the side of his lip, feeling guilty that he hadn't been helping with anything. Every time Draco tried to get the dark haired wizard to work on the portfolio, Harry had conveniently avoided doing any actual work, even if he had worked extremely hard on his three essays, that was all he'd really done.   


He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it, figuring that Draco wouldn't even bother responding to him. Harry frowned deeply at the thought. Ever since he started working with Draco, and spending time with him, he had been off in his own little world, loving every second he had been in the presence of the blonde, without too much thought about Draco himself. Now that Harry thought about it, Draco never seemed very happy, and that which made Harry feel like a terrible friend, for not noticing earlier. His thoughts stopped for a moment. Were they friends? Harry shook his head a little, of course they were, what else would you call it? He wondered if he would ever be able to get the blonde to talk to him. Everyone needs someone to confide in, don't they?   


Harry watched Draco as he wrote; Draco was one of those people that were interesting to watch. Just certain things he did, probably without even knowing, stuck out. The blonde had his own way of doing things, like, taking something so simple and common, something like writing, and making it interesting. It sounded dumb to think about, but it was true. Draco was the type of person that needed to be in charge of any given situation, as if being in control was his comfort zone. Perhaps he just thought Harry would be unable to do their portfolio right, which would be a correct assumption, not that Harry would ever tell Draco that.   


The thought brought Harry's mind back to the other night. Perhaps that's what made Draco so uncomfortable, the fact that he wasn't in control? The more Harry thought about it, the more it made sense. Of course, there had been something else involved, there had to have been. No one would react the way Draco did, very spontaneously, it seemed, and the things he had said; "not again;" it was obvious that Draco hadn't been talking about Harry, since that had never happened between them before. Maybe Draco had been… no, Harry shook his head again, that couldn't be it, it was impossible… right? Harry's green eyes softened. It made sense, though, his mind argued. From what happened the other night, the fact that Draco shied away from physical contact, he also hated not being in control, even the scars on his body made sense. Maybe Draco thought they took away from his appeal, even if they were hidden, acting like a security blanket, almost.   


Harry almost didn't notice that class had ended, only looking up when Draco started talking to him. "Well, since you accomplished nothing, you can give these to the professor to look over." Draco fathered four rolls of parchment and pushed them in front of the dark haired wizard expectantly, before packing the rest of his school work.   


Mumbling to himself**,** Harry stood, grabbed the essays and walked up to Devroy's desk. "Professor?" Devroy looked up, waiting for Harry to continue. "We've finished four of our essays." Harry held them out for Devroy to take, he didn't. "Draco wanted you to take a look at them," the Gryffindor continued. Professor Devroy cocked an eyebrow at the use of Draco's first name, so unused to hearing it.   


"Set them down then, Potter**,**" he spoke, and went back to whatever he was doing.   


Simply nodding, Harry set the parchments down and walked back to his desk, hoping that Draco hadn't left yet. The blonde had just walked out of the door when Harry had swung his backpack over his shoulder. Determined to at least talk to him, Harry ran out of the room. He caught up to Draco towards the end of the hallway, wrapping his fingers around the blonde's small upper arm. "Hey, wait a sec," he said.   


"I have to go, Potter," Draco said without looking at the other wizard, pulling out of the grasp; he left the young Gryffindor alone in the practically empty corridor.   


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End

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	10. Penetrate

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Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, and kept reading this story in spite of my horrible inability to update regularly. If anyone has issues with blood, I suggest you only skim over the last half of this chapter, because there's blood, and lots of it.

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Chapter Ten: Penetrate.

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The sunlight crept its way between the two not-quite-touching pieces of heavy fabric that surrounded Harry's bed, creating a perfect line of sunlight over the top half of his face. Scrunching his face up in annoyance, the dark-haired Gryffindor mumbled incoherently and rolled on to his side, away from the offending light, determined to fall back asleep for as long as possible.

Long minutes passed as Harry lay, an immobile blob, sufficiently tangled in his sheets. He sighed in defeat, knowing that he wouldn't be able to fall back asleep, and removed himself from the mess of blankets that adorned his bed. Harry yawned loudly, his right hand moving up to rub the back of his neck while he pondered if he really wanted to take a shower today or not. He looked from the closed door across the room, to his open trunk, silently debating. Coming to the conclusion that his trunk was much closer than any shower, the young Gryffindor got dressed, not particularly caring if he were dirty for the day or not.

Harry generally enjoyed the weekends, simply because there was no exceedingly harsh agenda that he was forced to follow. There were the occasional weekends where Hermione would all but jump him, and demand that he finish his homework without his typical half-assed answers. Harry Potter was many things, but an overtly hard working student wasn't one of them.

Most of his day had been spent in the common room, half doing homework, half spacing out. After complaining about not seeing him very often, Hermione and Ron had hunted the other Gryffindor down which is why the three of them now sat in the worn, squashy chairs by the fireplace, silently doing homework. Well, Harry was staring blankly at his Potion's book while Hermione kept telling Ron everything that was wrong with his essay. Harry's eye twitched in retaliation to lack of movement. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, and when he opened then, he found himself looking into the fireplace, remembering his time talking to Sirius through it back in fifth year. The Gryffindor sighed and sunk down into the chair, he usually appreciated the weekends, but today has been nothing but boring.

"You alright, mate?" Harry heard Ron's voice speaking to the left of him. Turning his head he saw two pairs of eyes staring back at him.

"I'm fine," he muttered, "I just hate Potions."

"Oh, Harry, you're _still_ working on that?" Harry nodded and Hermione gave an exasperated sigh. "And I thought Ron was being difficult, give it here." She grabbed Harry's partially written essay and sat down in her chair, pushing her bushy brown hair out of her face. Harry noticed Ron looking longingly from his homework back to Hermione, clearly at a loss of what to do. The dark haired Gryffindor smiled in amusement. The three of them weren't nearly as close as they used to be, and Hermione took Harry's sudden desire to be reclusive as a result from Sirius' death. She was probably half right, but there was a part of Harry that just wasn't the same person that was once friends with the two that now sat next to him. Being with them was almost a painful reminder that he'd changed somehow, a change that he still can't figure out.

Lifting his legs from the floor, Harry curled up into the chair, turning just enough so he was again looking into the blackness of the fireplace. Draco hadn't been entirely correct when he made the observation of the three Gryffindor's faltering friendship. True, they weren't as close as they used to be. Ron and Hermione seemed absorbed in each other, and Harry had simply become less sociable. Obviously they still spent time together, but since the end of fifth year, things just haven't been the same.

An accomplished sigh came out of Harry's mouth when he looked at his finished essay. "Well, this exceeds my work limit for the day," the dark haired Gryffindor said, packing away his schoolwork. He noticed Ron's frown as he stood and started walking towards the dorm they shared. When he reached the stairs he heard Hermione speaking quietly to Ron, distinctly hearing the words, "Not now."

Harry's shoulders sagged as soon as he walked through the door to his room, and dropped his bag near the floor. It was still pretty early in the day, mid afternoon, he figured from looking outside. Maybe he'd go out on his broom later… The young wizard sighed, lying down on his bed, just as Draco wascoming up in his thoughts.

Before Harry really realized what he was doing, he found himself inside the Slytherin common room, in front of Draco's bedroom door. He hesitated. Sure, he knew the password, Draco wasn't as quiet as he thought when he'd muttered it into the door, but… how would he react to seeing Harry just walk, unannounced, into his room? He bit his lip, still unsure. Harry liked being around the Slytherin, he knew that much, but they still did fight a lot. Plus, he thought, Draco had been avoiding him. The realization hit Harry hard, and he frowned. He felt stupid just standing in front of a door, even if he were under his invisibility cloak, which was actually starting to get uncomfortably warm.

Harry made a half-turn away from the door, thinking it would be best to just leave. If Draco didn't want to see him, there was no way he would be able to get the blonde to talk to him. He sighed loudly, not noticing the Slytherins at a near by table looking towards his invisible figure, confused. He turned and looked back at Draco's door. He was already here, so why not at least try? Harry muttered the password and entered carefully, softly shutting the door behind him. He noticed the second he was in, that something was off.

He pulled his cloak off, not being able to think properly with the suffocating material covering his entire body. The room was uncharacteristically messy, a few books lay strewn across the floor, a chair was tipped over, and papers flooded the area around Draco's desk. Harry stepped further into the room, looking down when he stepped on something soft. It was clothes. School robes, a white, button down shirt, and a tie. Harry's eyebrows furrowed, and his frown deepened. His attention was pulled from the floor to Draco's unmade bed, where he heard a sharp intake of breath. Harry opened his mouth to say something, but stopped.

Draco sat at the end corner of his bed, his back to Harry. The first thing that caught Harry's eye was Draco's pale back. He sat, hunched over something, his hair falling in an unorganized mess atop his head, and around his shoulders. His spine was sharp, sticking out in an almost grotesque way, looking as if it could split through the flesh that lined his back. Long, skinny arms were tightly pressed up against Draco's sides, making his lax position appear rigid, almost like he was in pain.

Harry's reaction was instant, his left hand covering his mouth while he held back a gag. Draco wouldn't be doing _that_, would he? His eyes looked sad and uncertain, what do you do in a situation like this? "Draco?" Harry barely whispered through his fingers.

Draco's entire body stiffened and Harry knew the blonde had heard him. Before Harry had even finished calling Draco's name, the Slytherin's back raised slightly, every muscle clenching tightly, like it was the hardest thing he ever had to do. Long, uncomfortable moments passed, both boys remaining motionless.

"Potter?" Harry's frown deepened, Draco's voice was precariously weak.

Harry watched as Draco set something down on the bed, and, still unsure of himself, he started taking slow steps around the large bed to face Draco. The movement caught Draco's attention, making him twitch. He slowly stood from the bed, his hands sliding in front of his stomach, almost like he was trying to shield the cuts from Harry's view. The blood smeared, coating both of his hands and it looked surreal to Harry, almost like something you would see in a movie. Was Draco supposed to be bleeding that much? He watch in fascinated horror as blood pooled in between pale fingers, then slowly began to slide across his knuckles, making obscene trails of blood across Draco's fingers. It vaguely reminded Harry of fifth year, having to do lines, having to cut into his own flesh. He shuddered, was that the same pain that Draco felt when he cut himself? For himself, it wasn't done willingly, so how could it be the same? Harry wondered if it felt worse… or better.

"What does it feel like?" Harry's eyes stayed fixed on Draco's bloody torso.

"Like having control," Draco whispered back, looking at the floor, some point beyond Harry.

Silent minutes passed between the two, though not exactly awkward, but far from being comfortable. Draco's hands fell from his stomach, a soundless defeat that was almost touching to Harry. Pale arms hung limp at Draco's sides, and Harry noticed a small drop of flood fall from one of Draco's long fingers, down to the thick carpet below them, before his eyes traveled back to the expanse of Draco's torso. There were dozens of cuts. Some were just small scratches, others probably deep enough to require a trip up to the infirmary.

Taking in a long, shaky breath, Harry raised his head and caught Draco's eyes. "Cut me," he spoke softly, not breaking past the mere whispers they have been speaking to each other since Harry had entered the room, almost for fear of breaking the personal moments they were sharing. Something flashed in Draco's eyes, something Harry didn't recognize. They stared at each other, both searching for something, but it was something neither of them could find. Draco bent towards the bed, grasping a small razor into his bloodied fingers.

"Come closer," he spoke slowly, not making an attempt to cover the uncertainty that laced his voice.

Harry was hesitant at first. He assumed that Draco would have yelled at him, or at least told him no. Biting the inside of his lip, Harry moved so he was mere inches apart from Draco. Wordlessly, Draco unbuttoned the clasp to Harry's robes, and pushed them off his shoulders, letting the black material fall to the ground. His right hand slid down Harry's left arm, the white fabric soaking up the slowly drying blood from Draco's hand, his movements were slow, and Harry watched intently. Draco unbuttoned and rolled up the sleeve of Harry's shirt, letting his fingers trail over the darker flesh than his own that made up Harry's forearm.

Draco's fingers curled around the base of Harry's hand, his pinky slipping in between the Gryffindor's thumb and forefinger. His thumb brushed gently over the unmarked skin, and gave Harry's hand a light squeeze before raising it between the two of them. Pale grey eyes met green, and found that Harry's earlier hesitation had vanished. Still silently, Draco looked back down to the wrist that lay in his hand, slowly bringing the razor from his left hand to hover over the skin. Harry took in a sharp breath at the sensation of the cool metal dragging across his skin. It was barely pressing down but the feeling of skin being sliced open was more than enough reassurance that the cut had been made. Draco repeated the action, so that two thin slices lay together, quietly beginning to bleed. Both of Draco's hands held up Harry's cut arm, and he watched the dark haired boy stare at his arm. Morbid fascination washed over Harry as blood slowly bubbled up through the cuts, the strange stinging sensation felt welcome, making his arm tingle.

The sensation was soon lost on Harry. The pain faded to a dull ache, which seemed more like a nuisance than anything else. Holding in a sigh, Harry couldn't help but wonder why the blonde in front of him felt the need to slice himself up, if this was the only effect it really had. He hadn't known what to expect, but he had at least hoped it would have been satisfying… even if only to help justify Draco's actions to his own mind. But he still couldn't, though it made him feel a nameless emotion that felt awkward inside of his body.

The weight of his arm pushed the three hands down, until Draco's fell back to his sides. Harry could feel blood sliding down his wrist, pooling into the palm of his hand. They stared at each other, neither quite understanding what just happened. Harry stepped closer and found his lips on Draco's. The blonde hissed lightly when Harry's finger trailed over Draco's stomach. It was a soft kiss, reassuring almost. Draco pulled back, looking at Harry blankly. More awkward silence fell between them.

"Why do you do this?" Harry asked, picking the razor out of Draco's hands. Draco's mouth opened slightly, but something in his eyes made him falter. Harry knew at that moment Draco was trying to respond to a question that he didn't have the answer to. The blonde struggled with himself, instead of admitting that he didn't know.

"No," Draco spat, turning away from Harry's gaze and began to walk away from him. Harry turned with Draco and grabbed his arm, his fingers easily wrapping around it.

"No?" Harry repeated. Draco pivoted on his heel sharply, tearing Harry's hand off of his arm. Harry winced, realizing he had just done something stupid. "I have absolutely no obligation to answer any of your bloody questions, Potter. You can't just stalk in here and expect me to talk about things I clearly don't want to discuss, especially with you."

Harry groaned. "You're a frustrating, irritable, little git! All I want to do is help!"

"You can't keep acting like some stupid, self-righteous Gryffindor. You're just a pathetic drug addict that can't control your own life, so you try to keep your fingers wrapped around everyone else's!" Draco shoved Harry away from him then stalked off into his adjoining bathroom. The door slammed shut with a deafening bang, rattling in its wooden frame. Draco might have regretted what he said if he had seen the crushed expression on Harry's face.

Draco kicked the door that now stood in between him and the offending Gryffindor in the other room. A frustrated growl followed in suit. Forcing a long breath of air through his lips, Draco closed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair; Harry was more effort than he was worth. His tall frame stood in front of the vanity in the bathroom, his fingers tightly gripping the edges. He looked at his reflection through his eyelashes, not being bothered by the amount of blood that was smeared on everything from his hair, to his trousers. The image that looked back at him through the mirror looked insanely sadistic. Messy chunks of red and blonde hair fell in front of his face, hands were streaked with blood, which paled in comparison from the shallow to deep gashes that ran in a chaotic mess across his torso, a few still trickling blood.

Yet the image didn't satisfy. There weren't enough cuts; he didn't hurt enough. Draco's hands trembled as he dug through his things, searching. His entire body shook with a need he hadn't felt since his first time. A forced sigh of relief forced its way through his pale lips as his fingers gripped around the small, silver object he had been so fervently looking for. His body stilled for a soft moment, and the room fell in to a strained silence. Long, heavy breaths came out of Draco's mouth has he raised his strangely steady hand to his pale, as yetunmarked arm. Closing his eyes for a brief moment, Draco pushed the blade into his skin. The once sharp edge was dull, Draco pressed harder, watching, with a self-satisfied smirk, as his skin swallowed the razor. A shudder ran down his spine as he dragged the razor down the inside of his forearm, reveling in the tearing sensation the dull blade made.

The small piece of metal made a loud clanking noise as it fell from Draco's fingers into the porcelain white sink, when Draco leaned forward to grip onto the vanity once again, this time not out of anger, but for support. He felt his face start to tingle, and he started to feel lightheaded. Upon shaking legs that threatened to give out on him, Draco tried to walk towards the toilet, wanting to sit down, but his legs stumbled, and he fell to the ground in a pale, bloody heap. Curling up on his left side, Draco made no attempt to stand. His bleeding arm resting against the wooden base of his bathroom vanity was the last thing he saw before his world faded to black.

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****

End: Chapter Ten.

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	11. Translucent

Author's Note: I apologize for it taking the better part of two months for me to get this chapter up. I've been so busy recently, and this chapter represents a huge turning point in the story, so I wanted it to be as close to perfection as I could get it. Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to both read and review my story, you're all fantastical.

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Chapter Eleven: Translucent.

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Draco woke to the feeling of extreme discomfort; his arm was numb from being laid upon for an entire night, his neck was stiff from the position to the side it'd been held in, and his back felt horrible from whatever hard surface he was on. Groaning, the groggy Slytherin opened his eyes, trying to blink away the fuzz in his vision. A pale, arm covered in dry blood was staring back at him. He voiced a weak grunt at the pain his shoulder protested with as he pushed his body to drop flat onto his back. Draco winced almost absently at the painful feeling of blood rushing into his cold, damaged arm. Draco's vision stayed fixated onto the bathroom ceiling as he tried to remember how he'd ended up in an undignified bloody lump, lying at the base of his bathroom vanity.

His foggy mind slowly recalled the night, including Potter.

Potter.

"Shit," Draco whispered to himself, suddenly wishing that the floor would swallow him whole, at the moment. Several long, blank minutes passed before Draco's body refused to let him stay still for any longer. Violent hissing noises came from the blonde as he took sharp breaths through his teeth as sat himself up; he felt abnormally weak, and the gashes on his stomach screamed at the stress of his movement. His face contorted into disgust at the ripping sensation he felt against his skin when he pulled his arm up out of the dried blood that pooled at the base of his elbow on the floor.

The blonde turned his body slowly, moving so his back lay against the wooden vanity base. He shut his eyes and took in a shaky breath, simply shifting up into a sitting position made him feel lightheaded and tired. Trying to collect what little strength he had, Draco carefully stood, using the vanity for support, his bleary eyes searched for two bottles of potion. His fingers curled lightly around a clear bottle with an opaque purple liquid simply labeled 'wound-cleaning' as his eyes rested on a bottle of turquoise strengthening solution. Draco let out a deep sigh. Today was going to be a long day.

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For the first time he could remember in his life, Draco allowed himself to slump down into his chair, his head downcast, looking at some blank point on his lap. He looked and felt like every single negative emotion he had ever been exposed to for the past seventeen years, and he was sure it showed, as well. The strengthening potion had helped him in the beginning of his day, but now, towards the end, he felt the same overwhelming weariness that he had woken up to. The day had been rough on him, rougher than he had expected. That, of course, probably had something to do with the trying to write and work with an arm that clearly did not want to function. Draco's eyes stared down at his left arm that rest snug up against his abdomen, a habit that he had developed from being over protective of his wounded arm. He promised himself to look up a proper healing spell to get rid of his self-inflicted laceration.

In spite of his cloudy mind, he couldn't help but wonder where Harry had been all day; he hadn't shown up for any of the classes he had with certain blonde Slytherins. Draco's blank face fell into a frown at his own thoughts. It truly irked the blonde how often his thoughts returned to the annoying Gryffindor. He was in the middle of contemplating how comfortable his desktop looked for a nap when Professor Devroy walked into the room. Draco glared at him; harboring bitter feelings toward the way that his teacher made stalking around look so effortless.

Professor Devroy scanned the room, eyes briefly stopping at Potter's empty desk, before he came to stand before his class. He would have sighed if he hadn't been expecting it to happen; he had taken note of the reasons for the boy's distraction in previous classes, and knew it was only a matter of time before he was absent. "As I doubt any of you remember," Devroy began slowly, "I'll say it again: you will be taking a quiz today." Devroy didn't bother to hide his annoyance at the collective groans that immediately followed his announcement. "You will be tested on the theory you've learned in previous classes, and following the quiz we will continue theory on Thought Change."

The professor picked up the stack of papers from his desk and started down the center aisle, passing the quiz out to his students. "Towards the end of class I will be handing back your essays on Glance and Word Change; if there is any time left this class, you will be able to start revising them for your portfolio."

Professor Devroy finished doling out the quiz to his under-enthused pupils, and came to stand in front of his desk again. The students watched him with blank eyes, apparently waiting for something. "Well, get started; I haven't got all day," he said impatiently, giving a small wave in their direction. Startled, the class turned their noses to their papers and began to skim and read the questions, scratching down answers where they knew them. Chester crossed his arms over his chest, looking around to make sure no one was attempting to cheat. If they did, all they'd see is a garbled mess on their neighbor's paper, thanks to an anti-cheat spell enforced between the desks beforehand, so it made the attempt moot, but it amused him, none the less.

His eyes scanned the room once more, noting again the empty seat at the front of his classroom. At least he didn't have to watch Potter sit in a daze, staring at random objects periodically throughout the class. Though he had been strangely attentive last class, his focus wasn't strictly on the material being taught; that thought led his eyes to Malfoy, sitting alone at the table. He looked tired, even with his head down, Chester knew the boy was feeling ill, and wasn't even bothering to hide it. Draco still cradled his arm, and felt the scrutinizing eyes of the professor on him as he slowly raised it from its place around his stomach to begin his quiz.

It almost took all of the meager effort he had left to pick up his quill and dip it in the ink pot, but he managed; he was a Malfoy, after all, and couldn't afford to not even make an attempt. He let his eyes scrape over the words on the page, the questions that he knew the answers to, but didn't want to bother writing them down. Draco tried to hold the quill firmly, but it hurt to pull the muscles tight enough. He sufficiently managed to keep a good enough grip on the thin base, but then he needed to move his arm more towards the paper. It was disgusting how he lacked the effort to do even the simplest thing at the moment, and he forced through the pain, steeling his jaw as he lifted his arm and began to jot answers down, his writing definitely taking a dive as the ache in his arm only increased.

Draco sneered at the piece of parchment once he finished his quiz, feeling bitter accomplishment for completing it. His answers where unusually short, and his handwriting was large and sloppy, but it was _finished_. After setting his quill down, Draco's arm slid back to its resting spot, against his stomach, and his focus dropped from in front of him, to Harry's empty seat. He was both relieved and disappointed that the Gryffindor was absent, and he didn't even bother chiding himself for thinking about his classmate this time. The disappointment vaguely confused him, for he had no real reason for needing to see him. Draco frowned, unable to define the line he crossed, and when, from hating Harry, to caring about him, more so than his housemates, anyway.

Blaise came to mind at the thought of his housemates, but, before he could let his mind wander too far, it was brought back suddenly as he flinched when a hand suddenly jumped into his view. Draco looked up to see his professor's eyes staring down at him, questioningly, yet dark and almost blank. Devroy's hand slowly pulled away the quiz on Draco's desk, clearly not wanting to alarm him further, still looking at the young wizard. He cocked an eyebrow, and turned away, collecting the rest of the quizzes. Draco's eyes fell shut for a short moment, frustrated with himself. He almost couldn't bring himself to open his eyes again, but he managed to blink away the heavy weights trying to hold them down.

It was time for the class to end, he knew, and Draco listened as he stared at the scratches on the desk in front of him to Professor Devroy's footsteps and the faint murmurs of his classmates. Draco lifted his head a little, then his eyes to focus somewhere on Devroy's upper body. He was feeling tired and wasn't sure why; his mind was trying to go in too many directions, and that didn't help at all. Priorities, he thought; he needed to put things in order of importance to deal with, and no matter what popped into his head first, Harry was not, or should not rightly be, at the top of the list.

There was a growing sense of apprehension that was crawling into the dark spaces of his mind, and he tried not to let his father's words slip in as well. Maybe he should speak to Blaise, Draco thought, but what would he say? Usually the blonde was never at a loss for words, and he was beginning to think that perhaps he'd gone a bit too far with his more intimate self-inflictions. He barely heard the professor's words, but he caught shuffling out of the corner of his eye, and began shifting as slowly as he dared so as not to draw too much attention to his injuries, as he lifted his bag to the table and started placing his books inside.

A third of the class had already left by the time Draco came to the last book and his inkwell left to put in his bag, and he was a slight bit dizzy as he tried to hurry his pace, standing from his seat as he grabbed the small pot of black liquid. "Mister Malfoy," he heard, and he tightened his jaw and closed his eyes, breathing in before looking up to his teacher, who had almost startled him coming up to his desk, though he knew he should have been expecting it.

"Yes professor?" Draco asked, opening his eyes as he looked at Devroy, having paused in his packing, setting the ink back down, the grip of his fingers around it causing tendrils of pain to course up his arm. He held his left arm close to his body again, and tried to straighten it a little under the material of his robe's sleeves, hoping it would hide the movement.

"Might I have a word with you?" Devroy looked at the young Slytherin with a demanding gaze, making it quite clear that leaving wasn't an option for Draco at the moment.

He nodded lightly, and looked away from his professor's intense stare, down to his bag again. Too-pale arms pushed on the top of his desk, trying for casual, yet shaking as Draco tried to keep himself upright, his legs deciding they weren't quite amused with the stall in his already forced movement. Draco could feel eyes watching him, making his struggle over himself even more difficult. It was obvious to both of them that something was seriously wrong with the blonde wizard, yet professor Devroy said nothing, and Draco remained conveniently silent about it. Draco stood over his desk, letting his eyes close briefly as he took in a long, uneasy breath, trying to steady himself before he slowly walked his way over to his professor. Devroy cocked an eyebrow at his student's actions, but Draco didn't notice.

Sometime during the middle of the class, Draco's strengthening potion had completely worn off, and the after effects made him feel more drained than when he had originally awoken in his bathroom. Draco stood at the front of his Glamour Magic professor's large desk as the two wizards silently stared at one another for a moment. Devroy gave a soft sigh, breaking the silence. "I don't suppose you'd happen to know the current whereabouts of Mister Potter?"

"No, I don't, sir," Draco replied, his brows furrowed. He certainly hadn't expected that question. With the words spoken between he and his professor, he was worrying it would be something about his father, or other such related involvements. The mere fact that Devroy would ask Draco about Harry made the blonde aware of how much he even outwardly had become slightly obsessed with the other boy.

"Hmm," was all the seated professor said, before he paused, nodding his head lightly and continuing. "I would have assumed otherwise, considering that boy seems to be permanently attached to you by way of some invisible leash." When he'd first met the boy, Chester had quickly made the decision not to sugar coat things when speaking to the younger Malfoy. He was old enough and had surely seen enough not to appreciate beating around the bush when both parties knew better, and had no use for games to be played in the interim. The only thing he was unsure of was the bluntness of which he was addressing this issue; it almost bordered on involving himself in a students' private relations, but he needed to get his point across, at least.

He was further assured by the sound of a snort, quite undignified, from the young Malfoy. "He's more like a blatant stalker, than anything," Draco said, not quite sure why he'd said it, though. It wasn't as if Harry tagged along with him constantly, as thus witnessed by his absence in all classes with the blonde, but Draco didn't want to admit he'd went looking for the Gryffindor on a few occasions, meeting up with him, and setting the time and place for them, as well. The small, amused grin on Devroy's face did not go unnoticed by Draco, either, but he didn't have the strength at the moment to further his thoughts on any implications it might hold.

"In any event," Devroy said swiftly after a beat, changing the topic, and grabbing a couple rolls of parchment from the corner of his desk. Instead of finishing his sentence, Devroy held the bundles across his desk, waiting for the student to take them.

Wordlessly, the blonde took both rolls, only opening each enough to see that they were two of Harry's essays, Glamour Object and Their Uses, and Dangers of Dream Change. "Professor?" Draco questioned, frowning in thought over the essays, and feeling his body become heavier by each minute spent standing before his teacher's desk. Relative

"There's nothing wrong with them, I just think that you might find what Mr. Potter wrote to be very interesting." Before Draco could tell him he had already seen the essays, Devroy stopped him with an upheld hand. "Just take them," he spoke firmly. "Take them and read the essays again." Draco was puzzled. Why was there such determination behind Devroy's words? They were just essays, they couldn't be that important, could they?

Sighing to himself, Draco turned to walk away from his teacher's desk, when Devroy started to speak again. "Oh, and one more thing," Devroy opened up one of the drawers and took out a small, snitch sized object. It was a simple, clear glass ball.

Draco cocked his head to the side, staring at the round object, unsure. His eyes were a bit blurred, and from the short distance, it looked like nothing of special importance. "It's a collective sphere," Devroy explained, holding it out, waiting for Draco to step back and take it. Draco did so, and was surprised at its weight, and hoped he managed to conceal the wince of pain from his features when it pulled the wounds on his arm. It felt heavy in his hand, something he hadn't expected. "Your study level for this class is much higher than everyone else's, and I'd hate to make this class any easier for you," Devroy said, leaning back in his chair as Draco stared at the ball that sat in the palm of his hand. What was he supposed to do with this thing?

"Dream Changes go in there**;**" Devroy began, almost as though he'd heard the question in Draco's mind, "read one of Potter's essays, it will explain to you exactly how to go about using it. I'd like to see you get a head start on Dream Change."

"I have a lot of other school work already, professor**,**" Draco said evenly, trying more to get answers out of his professor, than actually protest the advancement on the assignment. He had to admit, he was now more interested in the project, and was rummaging through a section of useless information in his mind, trying to remember what the essay the Gryffindor had given him had said.

"I am well away of that, Mister Malfoy, it was merely a suggestion. Even if you only view it as optional, mandatory school work, it's quite an interesting topic." The dark haired wizard stared at Draco, the gaze making him uncomfortable**;** Devroy was assessing him, and the knowing look in his eyes made the blonde shift awkwardly.

"Mister Malfoy," Devroy began slowly, and Draco frowned, knowing what was coming next, "either go back to your room and get some more sleep, or go to the infirmary. I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that you look positively sickly." Draco opened his mouth to defend himself, not even realizing he had nothing to say, and was almost thankful that the professor continued again. "And if you dare try to tell me otherwise, I'll give you detention." Draco stared, confused. A second passed, and Devroy broke Draco's gaze, looking at a large pile of papers. "You may leave," Devroy spoke evenly, doing well to ignore Draco's presence, giving the boy no further explanation. It could be left for a later date, when he didn't feel the blonde was about to collapse on his classroom floor.

Eager to leave, Draco collected his things and walked out of the classroom, heading for the dungeons. He all but dragged himself into his room, having to stop half a dozen times to catch his breath, or to steady himself. His head was swimming, making everything seem rather surreal. It made him dizzy, and made his already unstable legs all the more unreliable. As soon as he walked into his room, Draco dropped his much too heavy bag on the floor, and started to remove his robes. The usually soft fabric had been scratching painfully at his stomach, and his arm, all day long, making them burn. His eyes traveled over his wounds that stared up at him sickly. The skin around the sickening, yellowish scabs was an angry red color that was hot to the touch. He knew he should probably clean the wounds again, knowing he was much too weak to even attempt a simple healing spell on himself yet, but the sound of sleep was much more appealing to his exhausted body, the deeper recesses of his mind whispering in his ears. He took the few steps to his bed, and let his body crash down into it. A violent hiss came from his mouth when his stomach came in contact with the mattress, scratching it further along the covers. Groaning in frustration, he rolled over onto his back, letting sleep take over his weary mind.

It was late when Draco woke up, the muffled noise from the common room told Draco that classes had been let out. He groaned at the noise, wondering exactly what time it was, but not curious enough to open his eyes to find a clock of some kind. From the growl in his stomach, he assumed it was after dinner. The cold, hollow sensation of hunger was something Draco welcomed; the ache was a strong contrast to the searing pain of his cuts, and he breathed deeply, letting the acids move in his stomach. The blonde stayed in his bed, ignoring both his hunger and his cold chest. He really was tired enough to fall back asleep, an idea he contemplated for several long minutes before he rolled onto his side, slowly working his way off his bed.

He stood a little too fast, and immediately sat back down, hands gripping so frantically he was ashamed, regardless of why he had scrambled for purchase on the edge of this bed, for fear of loosing balance and falling over. Darkness fell over his eyes for a frightening long few seconds, followed by the painful ache of a too light bright burning against his eyes. Long moments passed, and Draco sat still, with his eyes closed. He felt marginally better after taking the time to get some actual sleep, instead of passing out on the cold**,** tiled, bathroom floor. It wasn't much, but at least there was a slight difference.

The cuts on his stomach throbbed from being hunched over for too long, forcing him to slowly stand up, and consequently pulling at their precariously sealed edges. He groaned, knowing at least that how he felt at the moment was by far an improvement from earlier. It was lost on the blonde, how he managed to go to any of his classes, even with the aid of the strengthening solution.

Still groggy, Draco slowly walked towards his wardrobe. He knew he would feel slightly better once he changed, falling asleep in his normal robes made him feel disgusting whenever he woke, feeling cramped in them, the material leaving creases against his skin. Carefully, Draco changed into some clean robes, and then walked to the bathroom. His foot caught on the rug, and he stumbled a bit, cursing as he fell into the wall for support.

Draco made an undignified grunt as he pushed himself up, and walked through his bathroom doorway. A sigh of relief came from him as his eyes settled on a not-quite-empty bottle of turquoise strengthening solution. There wasn't enough for him to make himself feel dramatically better, but there was enough to make him feel somewhat normal… almost. He drank the thin, sugary liquid, shivering slightly at how cold it felt sliding down his throat, and touching his empty stomach. He let himself stand there, braced against the sink as his strength was renewed, before he lifted a hand to open the cupboard, not opening his eyes until the mirror was facing the wall. He scanned the contents, noting the low contents of all the bottles, except one.

He reached out to it, gently turning the bottle in its place to read the label as it was revealed. He almost grinned, and he might have, he wasn't quite sure as the tiredness had yet to fade. The bottle was filled with another potion for strengthening, and it was a stronger solution, at that. He uncapped it with one hand, the other still holding himself up; he wouldn't bother trying to fool himself that he could do it without his arm there. He downed a third of the contents, and held the sharp, bitter liquid in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. He felt it burn down, more quickly, and he chanced moving his arm, and put the lid back on the bottle, setting it in its place in the cupboard before closing the door, making a mental note to replace his stocks as soon as possible.

He stared back at himself in the mirror, noting the darkness under his dull, gray eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, mussed from sleep, despite his rather stationary position on the bed. Draco felt slight dampness along his hairline in places, knowing he must have broken into a faint sweat during his sleep. The blonde sighed and closed his eyes, reaching blindly for the tap to turn on the water. After washing his face, the Slytherin felt a little better, and could feel a concentration of the potion pooling around the worse wounds on his body, working to heal them.

He walked from the bathroom and pulled his cloak from its place on the chair in front of his desk, absently putting it on as he moved from his room, shutting the door behind himself. Without even noticing his foray through the hall, or even the common room, despite the attempts to draw his attention from his classmates, Draco found himself walking even further into the dungeons. His step faltered, and he slowed as he realized that was probably where Harry was hiding. Had he set out to find the Gryffindor? He gave a half-hearted dramatic sigh at himself, though he kept walking, trying to push the thought out of his head, but that proved rather unsuccessful.

Draco's pace slowed a bit more, the sudden burst of energy wearing off; the potion didn't give him Herculean strength until the time it was finished going through his system, but rather gave aid to tired muscles and forced his body to push harder. His head began to throb faintly, and the blonde became frustrated with himself for becoming so weak; he was only walking, for Merlin's sake. He longed to be back in bed, comfortably resting his wounds, but he couldn't resist giving in to the impulse, the urge to seek out the missing Gryffindor. He knew he felt something for Harry, he was much too tired to even try to argue that with himself right now, but that didn't mean he needed to go looking for him whenever he disappeared; for all he knew, Voldemort could have captured him, and his father would be torturing him right now.

He turned down the last corridor and stopped, leaning heavily against the wall. The stone was hard against his back, and he could feel the coldness through his robes, making him shiver. The thought of sitting down and falling asleep was rather appealing to him at the moment, and he groaned, really hoping he didn't end up searching half the dungeons for someone who didn't want to be found. He could see the dark outline of the doorway,his destination, and he promised himself that if Harry wasn't in there, when he found him, he was going to rip out the Gryffindor's intestines and strangle him with them.

Grunting, he pushed himself off the wall, and walked towards the doorway. The violent smell of vomit was the first thing Draco was greeted with when he walked into the room. His hand immediately covered his face, in a poor attempt to block out the scent. It smelled old, like it had been sitting around all day, which, it probably had, Draco realized, almost stepping in a grotesque pile of the offending substance. He looked at his shoe, thankful that it wasn't currently stepping in the vile smelling mess as he walked into the darkened room. Something else caught his eye when he moved to walk away; a bag. He took out his wand and muttered a light charm, blaming his sluggishness for not having lit it sooner, and lightly pushed the bag with his foot. Spilled out on the floor were some pills, a few were crushed, something Harry probably had stepped on, a brown vial of something, and a syringe with a bent needle. Draco cringed when he saw the syringe and was about to pick it up to see if it had been used when a soft groan pulled his attention away from the small object.

Quickly, his eyes darted from corner to corner, along each wall until his eyes fell on the shadowed form of Harry, who was slumped over in one of the far corners of the empty room. Draco walked the short distance, forgetting his lethargy for the moment, and bent down, touching Harry's shoulder lightly. He was about to tilt the dark haired boy's chin towards himself, to speak to him, and determine whether he was conscious when the Gryffindor spoke.

"I don't want you to hate me anymore," Harry whispered softly, his voice cracking. He lolled his head to the side, giving Draco a sad half smile, his eyes barely held open. Draco sighed, and rested on his haunches in front of the Gryffindor, eyes skimming over his bare chest. He wasn't quite sure what to say to that; he didn't hate Harry, and when it came down to it, he doubted he ever really had. It was more used as an overplayed excuse for the two of them to have something to compete over, he supposed.

"I don't hate you, you dolt**,**" Draco quietly said back, and he didn't take it personally when the small smile faded from Harry's face; he knew the Gryffindor simply couldn't hold it there any longer, his muscle control being weakened by whatever he'd intoxicated himself with. The blonde carefully and slowly grasped one of Harry's arms, letting his eyes wander over the half naked boy to check for any obvious marks. He sighed in relief when he didn't see any needle entry points on the inside of Harry's arms. With the way Harry was propped up against the wall, Draco was unsure if the stone was too cold against Harry's bare back. His skin was unnaturally cold, and Draco wondered why Harry had removed his shirt in the first place.

Draco moved his hand to cradle the side of Harry's face, gently pulling it so his head was upright instead of leaning towards his shoulder. The only response Draco received was for Harry to close his eyes the little way he'd held them open, and he pressed his cheek into the blonde's palm, leaning into the touch. "Harry," Draco called to him, noting the worried tone underlying his words, "come on." He waited a moment for the other boy to respond, but there was nothing, making Draco frown. "Open your eyes, Harry," he said, and watched as green eyes slowly opened, looking up at Draco. Harry's eyes were tired, his pupils dilated. "What did you take?" Draco's frown deepened when Harry halfheartedly shrugged, and let his eyes fall shut. Draco's other hand moved to Harry's chilled shoulder, and shook him lightly. "Harry," he said forcefully "_what_ did you take?"

Harry opened his mouth like he was about to answer, but it hung there for a moment before, "…stuff." His eyes were still closed, and Draco moved to speak again, hands still in place on the other boy's body when Harry continued. "I don't know," he said, trying to turn his head from side to side, "…Draco…" The blonde in question watched him, still frowning, but when the movement stopped, Draco sighed; he was too tired for this.

He could still feel the strength in his muscles, and he really hoped for Harry's sake he wasn't too weak to do what he was planning. Draco shifted one knee down to the floor to steady himself, and slowly pulled his hand away from Harry's cheek, and his shoulder. The bag was close enough, and Draco grabbed it and Harry's discarded shirt, shoving it inside as well as the drugs that had spilled out. He lifted the bag to his shoulder and took his wand, which he'd set on the ground, still glowing to provide light in the dark room; he flicked it at the crushed pills, cleaning them up quickly.

Draco moved back to Harry's prone body, and pressed the back of his hand to Harry's cheek; it was still cold, and his skin was starting to become damp. The blonde didn't feel very reassured even when Harry shifted of his own volition when Draco lifted his arm, wrapping it around his own neck, feeling the cold, clammy skin brushing the nape of his neck. It was dead weight, but Draco was relieved when the barely conscious Gryffindor grasped absently against his shoulder, showing strength enough to find purchase in the thick material of his cloak.

Taking a deep breath, Draco slid an arm around Harry's lower back, closing around the boy's hip, while his other arm slid under Harry's bent knees, holding onto his thigh. He shifted the weight back in his arms, pulling the smaller boy from the ground as he slowly stood, raising from his kneeled position on the floor. He stood for a moment, becoming accustomed to the weight; albeit it wasn't much, it would still tire him unnecessarily before he got back to his rooms. Harry leaned his head to the side, on his own shoulder, his hair brushing Draco's cheek as he side-stepped through the doorway.

Draco walked silently and listened to Harry's breathing, more labored than his own, and he was carrying another body. Perhaps the potions did help more than he expected, thinking himself almost too far gone. A visit to the infirmary would not be pleasant, and he dreaded even asking Professor Snape for extra potions supplies to brew his own solutions. He barely realized when he'd reached the Slytherin common room, and had already spoken the password before it dawned on him that carrying a semi-conscious Harry Potter into the dorms wasn't the most brilliant idea.

At his words to the portrait, Harry began to stir, rolling his head back slightly, and Draco worried for a moment that he wouldn't be able to hold it up, but he managed. The common room was mercifully empty, and Draco realized how late it really was as he made quick work of the space, not wanting to leave anything to chance, and passed through the area and into his bedroom.

Draco closed the door with his foot, almost unsteadying himself with his burden, and walked to the bed. He set Harry's body down gently, and shucked his cloak off his arms, flinging it towards the chair before he settled on the bed himself. "I'm tired," Harry whispered to him, his body slowly starting to lean into Draco's.

"I am, too," Draco whispered back, his arm moving to slide around Harry's waist. He looked down into Harry's eyes, barely open, and they blinked at him once, sadly, before they didn't open again, but Harry was still awake. Draco could feel Harry's skin on his hand, still cold, and he settled down beside the dark haired boy on his bed. Harry attempted movement, but his body protested, though it seemed to leave him where he wanted to be, witnessed by the hum of approval at the positioning, curled against the Slytherin's body. Draco was unsure of the close contact, but he closed his eyes, sighing softly, and Harry's hand moved to his arm, tightening for a second like he was trying to say something he didn't have the strength, let alone words for. The blonde brushed his thumb across the small expanse of skin it could reach, letting a silent apology settle between them as their breathing evened out, letting them both slip into a quiet sleep.

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End Chapter

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